


Vampire Facts for the Curious and Afflicted

by sage1



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Blood and Injury, Character Turned Into Vampire, Eating Disorder Not Otherwise Specified, Explicit Language, F/F, F/M, Gore, M/M, Mild Gore, Mute Frisk (Undertale), Named Reader, Nonbinary Frisk (Undertale), Other, Post-Undertale Pacifist Route, Reader Is Not Chara (Undertale), Reader Is Not Frisk (Undertale), Recreational Drug Use, Slow Burn, Swearing, Vampires, You can decide the Reader's gender since I'm trying not to explicitly state it
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-24
Updated: 2021-02-23
Packaged: 2021-03-11 05:21:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 49,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28279824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sage1/pseuds/sage1
Summary: You're a pretty normal, 21-year-old university student working at a local nursery, a garden-variety human trying to pass classes as well as anyone else.At least, that's what you want everyone else to think. You're certain your big, dark secret is safe- until you meet a tall, charming skeleton and his friends, all of who wiggle their way into your heart.What's more, ever since your birthday, strange things have been happening throughout your town; disappearances and inexplicable phenomena. What will you and your friends discover as you piece together this mystery?
Relationships: Alphys/Undyne (Undertale), Asgore Dreemurr/Toriel, Papyrus (Undertale)/Original Character(s), Papyrus (Undertale)/Reader
Comments: 18
Kudos: 61





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Hi,
> 
> This is my first fic on here! There's such a lack of papyrus fics that aren't AU-centric, so I decided writing my own might help solve that issue a bit. This is just the prologue, and more chapters are hopefully to come. I don't have an update schedule or anything but I'm hoping not to go dead after posting just one chapter. Enjoy!

“Dammit, Bobby!” says the angered, animated Texan father currently pacing across your television at one in the morning.

You’re hardly paying attention to the episode, with your laptop open to an article about the top 10 weird-looking bugs and various other tabs. _King of the Hill_ plays in the background as a sort of white noise. Normally you would be asleep, but tonight’s important.

It isn’t every day that you turn 21, and this age has implications for you beyond being able to now win radio contests or buy alcohol without hassle. When you were younger, you had been so sure that your 21st would be this big extravaganza with tons of friends, pop-its, and salacious behavior; but honestly, watching TV alone in your bedroom in the wee hours left little to be desired. Introversion, to put it kindly.

You’re sleepy enough at this point to hit the hay, but it’s imperative to stay up until the clock strikes your birth time, which isn’t far from now anyway— less than two hours to go. Tiring slightly of just watching cartoons while you loaf about, you open a game on your laptop and build blocky structures haphazardly, filling empty rectangular buildings with all manners of skeletons, zombies, and other angry ghouls. Out of all the enemies in the game, the skeletons remain your favorite; certainly not because of their AIs, just because they look cool and make little clacking sounds on the regular.

The almost two hours passes unbelievably quick, according to the alarm on your phone set to five minutes before 2:43 A.M. You feel like you ought to do something significant, at least go pee first, but you simply continue to explore the cave your player is in until the one-minute alarm goes off. Pausing the game, you look down and gently run your fingers over the stone pendant around your neck, lifting it up into the blue shine from your computer and twisting it around.

Suddenly, after one minute, when the clock strikes 2:43 A.M., the moment you were born, the stone begins glowing profusely, casting a deep cinnabar color into your otherwise dark room.

Well, fuck.


	2. Vampires Aren't Allergic to Sunlight (Well, for the Most Part)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You go to work and interview an interesting potential new hire, and make your first mistake of many as a vampire!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for this chapter, there's some slightly graphic descriptions of injury not too far after the ***, I'll reformat it if anyone asks though so that part is sectioned off by itself.

You peel open your eyes the morning after, an embrace of lethargy in your every movement. After a few minutes convincing yourself it was fine to sleep in, you remembered that actually, it wasn’t— you had an interview to conduct.

Not that you were necessarily the owner of your workplace, or some kind of boss at all, but your manager Mrs. Holter trusted you enough to do higher level tasks like interview and hire potential candidates. More truthfully, you suspected that she didn’t care to go through the tedium of interviews when her schedule was already jam-packed, as she put it. You flop unceremoniously out of bed and direct your legs toward the bathroom to begin getting ready for the day.

You stare at yourself in the mirror, under the yellowish glow of the bathroom light, looking for any major change indicative of last night’s… change. So far, nothing seemed much different; maybe you were seeing things, but your eyes looked like they’d gained a reddish tint overnight. The total transformation, you were told, took place over the span of about a week, and it also felt pretty shitty while it happened. Fun. Then again, under the mock excitement of getting sick and feeling awful, you felt apprehensive in remembrance of last night’s events. Nothing significant had happened after your necklace started glowing, and shortly the room-filling glimmer dimmed down, you fell asleep. You weren’t quite sure how to really feel, considering that it wasn’t every day that a human became a creature of the night.

As human mythos and lore called it, a vampire. You _were_ a vampire, as of last night.

You delegate some thought to the rote motions of daily routine— going to the bathroom, washing your face, and brushing your long auburn hair. The last step had to be completed slower than the others, considering that recently your hair had started thinning a bit. You pretend not to know why, the answer lingering in a darker recess of your life that, at nine in the morning, you did not want to touch.

You head downstairs to the sight of your roommate, Hannah, scuffling around the kitchen and gathering breakfast. Without turning back to look at you, she asks “So, how’d last night go?”

“It wasn’t very eventful, and I definitely didn’t uh, think something flashier would happen,” you reply, reaching over to see if there’s anything worth snagging from the food in-process. Hearing this, she does stop and turn to you, frowning just slightly. “Don’t tell me you learned you’re something you don’t want to be. A blob monster, fated to only live by vacuuming crumbs off the floor like a goopy Roomba? No no, wait, you’re destined to be a hairy werewolf and bending to sniff lots of butts! Right?”

“No, Hannah,” you say pointedly, “I just wasn’t expecting that the ancient powers that be would say I’m a bloodsucking, bat-loving vampire, that’s all. I thought maybe I’d be like you and my pendant would give me a Hogwarts letter.” Hannah is a witch, after all, which you both found to be pretty damn cool, at least until her first instance of magically yeeting everything out of the kitchen cabinets when she attempted to levitate a cereal box. The aftermath had been nothing short of an unnatural disaster in your eyes.

“Well still! Being a vampire is cool, right? Unless you really like garlic. Or sunlight. Or a thousand other things that kill vampires.”

“Thanks, that makes me feel so much better,” you tell her with a tinge of annoyance, “and I don’t know that half those things are true. Vampires aren’t allergic to the sunlight, as far as I know.” She sets down her toast and gets up from her chair at the dining table and climbs the stairs to her bedroom. She comes back down the stairs and says, “Y’know what, there’s a way to settle this. I was going to wait until after you got off work to give you this, but… here.” Hannah hands you a large, thick brown book that most resembles an encyclopedia.

“Hey, this is great and all, but… you forgot to buy the words that go with it,” you state plainly as you turn the book over and open it up, seeing blank page after blank page.

“It’s an Everchanging Book, dummy! It’s not just a witch thing, apparently. It’ll tell you things you need to know, but you have to ask it a question first for the info to show up. Here, try asking it about vampires and sunlight. It has to be opened to a blank page first though.” You flip the pages open to about halfway through the book to a random page, asking aloud, “Excuse me book, but can you please tell me: do vampires burn in the sunlight? Thank you.” Your politeness, which may have not been necessary, earned a short laugh from Hannah. The book seemed to parse your question successfully though, and a moment later the open page on the right filled with information in both black and red ink in a pointy font. The writing was thankfully in English, and provided the following:

> Vampires, though creatures of the night, do not necessarily suffer negative effects from sunlight exposure. They are more sensitive to light in general than their diurnal, mortal counterparts, and precautions both traditional or contemporary must be taken to prevent burning and long-term drawbacks. Among these are protective attire and creams which may be used as needed. Should a vampire damage from sunlight exposure, a poultice of dock leaves may be applied to alleviate associated pain. 

The book goes into more detail on vampires and sun exposure, as much as will fill the page, and includes diagrams of dock leaves and a few other plants you could include in your poultice. It seems to be a bit dated even if the writing is more modern. You gather that basically, you have to wear long sleeves and sunscreen now, which is fine— something your work necessitated anyway. With this knowledge, you continue to get ready for your day and leave the house shortly thereafter, thanking your roommate for the gift.

***

You skim the printed application briefly one last time before your interviewee arrives in an hour. You honestly had already hired him in your mind— the application he filled out was nothing short of… an amusing, if not confusing, work of art. The interview was mostly a courtesy step at this point.

Perhaps five minutes later, a strapping skeleton monster busts through the front doors of the garden center. He scans the premise, perhaps looking for an employee, before his sockets settle on you and he begins his march over. He has a confident air about him, and sports black blazer, gray undershirt, and matching slacks; you have to admire his professionalism, even if it is a tad much for an interview in a nursery.

“EXCUSE ME,” he starts with a boom, “but I’m here for an interview. To whom should I speak?”

“That would be me, actually, but… you’re almost an hour early?” It comes out as a half-question, half-statement.

“Well of COURSE I am, you can never be too early to important events! Except for the time I was five hours early, I was told that might be overkill!” _Five_ hours? Who was this monster? In your short conversation so far, you gathered that he was, if nothing else, cheerful as can be.

You think back on the application from earlier. “Oh, are you Papyrus?”

“THE ONE AND ONLY, THAT I’M AWARE OF!”

“Well, you are incredibly early, but that’s alright, we can hold your interview right now since you’re already here, no worries. Why don’t we take a walk and talk about it?” You set down the hose that had been in hand and reach to twist the faucet to off. “Sorry I didn’t introduce myself before, I’m Morrigan. Don’t feel too pressured or anything by the way, this is pretty informal.” You reach out to shake his hand, having supplied your name (technically middle name, but who’s keeping track) and give a firm grasp. He’s wearing… an oven mitt? No, it’s just a big red glove, from what you can see. “You must be pretty eager if you’re already wearing gloves, aha!”

“I always wear these gloves! They’re part of my REALLY RAD BATTLE BODY, but this outfit is better suited for the occasion!” You begin to realize that the shouting is just how he speaks unless he’s putting on some act in the long term. Not that you mind, really, and with how loud some of the equipment here runs.

As you walk, you step out from under the shaded plant tables into the sunlight. “So, have you ever worked in a nursery before?”

“No, but I used to garden for the King after we moved to the Surface. Does that count?”

The King? The king of all Monsters, that king? “Whoa, really? That’s fucking sick! Oh, oops, I should mention right now that I swear like a sailor, even if I try not to.” He blanches a little at your swear but said nothing otherwise. He begins to go into greater detail on what he used to do, from trimming hedges to helping tend for the other plants. It all checks out so far, and you’re so caught up in talking that you don’t hear—

“—human? Morrigan? What’s happening to your arm?” “Hmm?” You look down at your arm, forearms sticking out from the short sleeves into the light. There’s a sizzling sound, and then your arm starts to heat up, and then it starts to hurt in increasing increments of pain, all within the span of a few seconds. As if you’d held your arm to an open grill flame. You begin shaking your arm rapidly and swearing, as if it really had caught fire— but the burning and pain continue, the flesh on your arm beginning to bubble a bit. “Shit, shit shit!” You yell, running back toward the shaded area. Moments after retreating from the sunlight, the bubbling and burning decrease until you’re left only with the pain from you realize is a rapid and horrendous sunburn. Papyrus rushes back over after you, looking nothing short of horrified. “OH NO! WHAT HAPPENED? ARE YOU ALRIGHT?!” Even though he just met you, he looks beside himself with worry— a touching sentiment, but not something that will heal your burn. You continue to stare in surprise at your messed-up arm and curse yourself for believing that this part of the change wouldn’t happen so soon. “Yeah, I— ouch, sshh— I’ll be fine I think. But uh, I should probably bandage this up, huh? D’you think the burn spray will work?” You weren’t expecting an answer to your somewhat rhetorical question, but Papyrus answers anyway: “I’ve got a better idea, if you’d be willing to let me try.” He sounds hesitant, as if he thinks what he’s suggesting is overstepping some boundary of acquaintanceship. You nod and presume he might name a better medical solution for your wound. Instead, he instructs you to hold out your arm, and brings his to hover above the burn spot— a flow of orange from his hand to your wound brings a warm, tingling sensation that isn’t entirely unpleasant. After he removes his hand, you look at the wound; it’s not completely healed, but at least the pain has subsided, and the worst parts of the crackled flesh around the edge of the wound are closer to a normal color. You look at your arm in wonder, then up at his eyesockets. “Did you… heal it?”

“I did! It isn’t completely healed though, so we should go to my friend for that so that she may finish the job!” You smile up at him, thanking Papyrus, for what little he had done already helped immensely in your book.

After a moment, Papyrus proclaims, “OH, THE INTERVIEW! WE SHOULD CONTINUE IT!” You shake your head, and with a smile tell him “I’ve heard and seen everything I need to know about you as a potential candidate. Between you and me, your application was impressive enough, but healing me was the icing on the cake. It saves me a trip to the hospital. You’re hired.” Papyrus considers this momentarily, and then he looks like he’s about to explode with joy. “OH THANK YOU, HUMAN MORRIGAN! THIS IS GREAT NEWS, AND IT’S NOT EVEN MY BIRTHDAY!” He shakes your hand exuberantly, then offers, “But more importantly, you need to get that arm of yours fixed up! As I said, my friend is an excellent patcher, and you, a model patchee!” If there was one thing you already liked about your new hire, it was the strange way he phrased things.

“Look, I’ve got a few more hours until my shift ends, but why don’t I give you my cellphone number so we can arrange for my arm to get healed? And, you know, any other work-related stuff for the future.” Normally you don’t give your number out right out the door, but you got the feeling that Papyrus would have a lot of questions about his new workplace when you weren’t there— the new hires always did. Plus, you were a bit curious to see how well this friend of his could heal your arm. “You’re free to go now, I’ll head to the back and get a jumpstart on your new hire paperwork so that you can get up and running pretty soon.”

“Thank you again, new fellow colleague! Be seeing you again very soon!” With that, Papyrus waves, turns, and nearly collides with the door in his eagerness to go… somewhere. You walk to the supply closet and throw on a light jacket you kept stored in there for the autumn weather, taking care to slide the sleeve gently over your burned arm, and get back to work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, we finally meet Papyrus! And the 'reader' has a name, because I always personally find it a bit hard to read "Y/N" or anything else in other works, not that it makes them bad though. 
> 
> Who could Papyrus's friend be, hmm? Let's find out 👀
> 
> Also! The 'facts' I come up with aren't based on any one universe of lore, just a mash of various 'facts' and other things.


	3. Vampires are Technically Pretty Dead, So Healing is a Gray Area

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You get that wicked sunburn checked out! Sorta.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another warning for a description of wounds and such, it's not super gory but still. I'm trying something new so that hopefully it doesn't take away from the story too much, but I added a % to demarcate the sections with stuff like that. You can either scroll past by hand or use the 'find in page' tool to skip smoothly over it.

_Ding!_

The little machine bolted to the wall beeps as you clock out for the day. All things considered, it went well, and it wasn’t even 5 P.M. by the time you were on your motorcycle, responding to a text from earlier. True to his word, Papyrus texted you an address and told you to come by after work, which your map app told you was in a nearby neighborhood. Perhaps this friend of his ran a practice out of home, like an old-time doctor or something? Or maybe, you surmise, it’s a monster thing— the monsters that came from under a mountain, not the type that you technically were. You hadn’t thought about your mortality until that moment, and the prospect of it frightened you a bit; were you technically dead? Or would that make you undead? Or were you alive just… different?

You put the brakes on that train of thought as a lady’s automated voice directs you how to leave the garden center’s parking lot and make tracks to head to this address. It’s a bit hard to hear her over the roar of your bike’s engine, but you get the general gist of where you are supposed to go.

Soon enough, after lots of slow driving, a few turns, and squinting at house addresses, your phone tells you that your destination is on the right. You pull up against the curb and shut off your motorcycle, stepping off to take a gander at the house before you. Your mind strings together that while picturesque, the decorations are jarringly kitschy by comparison. There are three separate mailboxes, a plastic lawn flamingo staked near the front door (only one), a jolly roger hanging from the frontmost gable, and a row of lavender bushes along the front of the house (they aren’t in bloom yet though, as it’s January and lavender is a woody perennial. Your thoughts digress.)

Certainly, judging by the flag with the skull on it, this must be Papyrus’s house. Unless his friend is another skeleton monster, which you admittedly haven’t seen any others of besides him.

Having went up the little walkway, you give a gentle knock on the front door with one arm, helmet tucked under the other. A few moments pass and you knock again, a bit harder, and this time footsteps grow louder until the front door opens. “HELLO, MORRIGAN! Please, enter my cool lair called home!” Papyrus greets, stepping aside to let you through. If the outside of the house was a bit strange, the inside was even stranger; immediately your eyes flick to a lone rock on an end table, underneath some hanging coats, beside a water dish and a bowl of gravel. Off in one corner, there’s also a potted tree, possibly real, with a red tie around its think trunk. There’s also a briefcase on the ground next to it, and some reading glasses taped haphazardly within its leaves. The whole scene is somehow fitting in a charming kind of way.

“Feel free to sit on the couch, or the smaller chair, or the even smaller chair! Or… the even smaller, smallest chair!” Papyrus gestures to the living room and then offers you a drink, and you request water with ice. He turns and heads back toward his kitchen, evidently having been in the middle of making dinner. You sit on the couch, having declined to recline in the humorously ever-smaller chairs, and ask, “So, you never did tell me who your friend was. Are they here now?”

“No, she’s not here yet, but will be soon!”

A few minutes of looking at your phone pass in silence while Papyrus hums and toils in the kitchen, and then the doorbell rings. “I’LL GET IT!” he shouts and strides over with clear excitement.

“FRISK! QUEEN TORIEL! I hope meeting a new friend was on your list of things to do today!” he says, and you stand up to greet the newcomers. One of them is a kid, probably around age 10 or 11, with short brown hair and long bangs that could cover their eyes soon if left unkempt, decked out in a black T-shirt with dinosaur bones and teal leggings. The other is a much, much bigger white, furry goat monster wearing an olive-green sweater and light purple long skirt.

“I’m Morrigan. Nice to meet you,” you say, sticking out your hand for respective shakes. The goat monster accepts the shake and follows up with, “Hello! It is always nice to see a new face around here. My name is Toriel, and although I am a queen, you do not have to call me by my title as Papyrus seems to sometimes insist.” Oh man, a queen! And you were in your hanky work clothes… great first impression, surely— there’s nothing to be done in that regard, so you take note to stand up straighter and hold your pinky higher.

You turn to look down at the kid, but they’re hiding a bit behind Toriel’s leg. “Come now Frisk, do not be shy! It is good for you to meet other humans,” she says, stepping aside to reveal the child. They look up at you, and with a determined puff, stick their hand out for a handshake. You oblige and ask their name. They shake their head and point to their mouth, indicating… oh! They can’t, or won’t, speak verbally.

“Oh! I know some ASL, do you sign?” The child nods happily and begins to slowly fingerspell their name, but you have to double-check because you only caught ‘R-I-S-K’.

“Risk? Your name is Risk?” They shake their head and try again, but you just can’t remember enough to guess the first letter. You feel like a total dumbass in the moment, and wish you knew more sign language, when Toriel corrects your question: “The first letter is F— their name is Frisk. Although I suppose ‘Risk’ is sometimes more fitting.” She smiles a bit at her own joke, perhaps with the hope that you’ll smile too so that you don’t feel so awkward. Frisk turns to the nearby coffee table and grabs a pen and a random store savings ad to write in the margins of for you. You appreciate the consideration, even if it’s mostly on you that there’s a communication barrier in place.

(%) It’s a bit warm in here, with a heater blasting from some nearby vent, so you carefully shed your jacket from earlier and tie it around your waist, so you don’t forget it later. Toriel immediately notices the discoloration on your arm but looks away after a moment, clearly unsure if it’s something she should mention.

You save her the trouble of asking and hold your arm out for better examination. “Are you the friend Papyrus was talking about? That could heal this?”

She nods, and gestures for you to sit down on the couch with her. “How did this happen?” she asks before doing anything.

“Well, uh… I kind of. Hmm. I’m not super sure, it just kind of appeared there?” You state hesitantly, unable to come up with a plausible lie on the spot. She narrows her eyes at you and you’re dead certain she sees right through the fib, but thankfully she only goes on to ask if it was from some kind of attack.

“No, nothing like that! Chalk it up to clumsiness, that’s probably it. Not an attack though, that I’m sure of.” Not that you could tell her that you accidentally engaged in a 1-v-1 with the Sun earlier and lost.

“I ask only because monster healing magic accounts for intent. It is a bit more complex than I have the time to explain now, but this may be easier to treat because there was no malicious intent behind the wound.” You try not to laugh as you think about the Sun suddenly gaining a personal vendetta against you.

She tells you to hold your arm steady and horizontal and raises both paws above the burn site. Toriel takes a deep breath, holds it, and exhales, her paws emitting a glowing green essence on the breath outward. The feeling is like before with Papyrus’s magic, but it’s warmer and a bit more concentrated, albeit slower. A few minutes of steady flow and then Toriel lifts her paws away from you, looking at the product of her effort. The burn site is, for one, not entirely healed; instead, it’s dry near the edges of the wound and covered in angry red blisters closer to the center. There’s a patch in the center that appears completely untouched, as if shielded from the effects of the healing entirely. Toriel frowns.

“Ah, so it would seem my magic failed to heal the entirety of the damage the first time. Please, allow me to try again.” It isn’t a question, but a direction, and you stick your arm up again for more green healing essence. A few minutes later and Toriel has the start of a frustrated scowl on her face. “I do not understand… perhaps this is more serious than previously judged.” She isn’t talking to you so much as just talking aloud.

How convenient for you, that a powerful queen’s magic couldn’t heal your superficial mega-sunburn. You make a mental note to ask your ancient Wikipedia book about that later, and smile at her politely. “It honestly does feel a lot better, and that’s more than I certainly could’ve done, thank you so much.” (%)

“It is strange that it did not heal completely, but you are welcome. I am always glad to help friends of friends where I can.” She pats your hand once, then gets up and heads toward the kitchen, presumably to talk to Papyrus about your weird burn or something. You are left there on the couch to consider that she said “friends of friends”— you had hardly known Papyrus for one day, could you really be considered friends yet? You’re barely even coworkers!

Consideration aside, you rap on the wall bordering the kitchen and then pop in. “Hey, I’m going to get going now before it starts getting cold and dark. Thank you both for helping me, I can’t tell you how much I appreciate it.”

“ALRIGHT THEN! But would you like to stay for dinner?” Happy as he looks, you turn the invitation down. “Maybe next time? I’m pretty tired after all and I gotta drive home. Plus I have class tomorrow.” In truth, you want to get a better read on Papyrus before making his company a regular occurrence, and you had some personal sleuthing to do about your health discovery.

Papyrus is unphased by your decline and replies, “That’s quite alright! You’ll have even more time to get excited over my culinary finesse, then!” Saying your final thanks and goodbyes, not forgetting Frisk, you slip on your coat, grab your helmet, and make tracks for home.

***

Having tucked in for the night, you consult your Everchanging Book on vampire healing. “Hello, book. Please tell me, how do vampires heal? Thank you.” You found the added politeness to make your requests aloud to what was still an inanimate object less awkward. The blank page before you begins to fill out:

> Vampires are known for their accelerated, superb self-healing rates. This is true of damages both minor and major, with few exceptions. Wounds inflicted from cursed wooden stakes cannot heal and may be fatal when applied to specific areas of the sternum and chest cavity. Damage inflicted with malicious intent will take longer to heal, as an essence of intent is always excreted when wounds are acquired; as inanimate objects cannot have intent, simple self-inflicted damage heals faster. This essence is invisible to mortal eyes but may be observed by supernatural vision. Additionally, newly turned vampires suffer a much slower healing rate as they make the transformation from mortal to non-mortal. Wounds acquired in this stage may never completely heal, but this handicap slowly fades as the stages of vampirism progress until the opposite is true.

You were upset upon learning that the wound might never completely heal, but that was more of an issue for future you, and were also curious as to how both the book and Toriel could say such similar things about intent. Perhaps she was older than she initially appeared— you’d have to ask Hannah about it later.

What took top priority now were the cramps that were steadily increasing in your lower abdomen. Eventually, you were forced to hobble up the stairs and crawl into bed, only bothering to remove your shoes before lying there, practically thrashing and groaning in pain. You wish you’d grabbed the acetaminophen from your medicine cabinet but suppose you could muster up the will in a little bit.

Whatever the cause, you knew for certain that you were in for a very, _very_ long night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, Morrigan drives a motorcycle. With a helmet of course, safety is hella important!
> 
> Who's the third mailbox for, anyway? Maybe the pet rock? All those subscriptions to Rocks Monthly have to go somewhere, right?


	4. Vampires Can Eat Burritos (but the Price to Pay is Steep)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You go to class, get some exposition, and begin to regret your lunch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter talks a bit about your history of an eating disorder, and a lot about blood at the end. % in place for part of the chapter.

A sudden pressure on your stomach, rather your phone’s alarm, is what wakes you up. Panic immediately shadows your open eyes, until you noticed one very large cat on your chest kneading your torso to prepare his resting spot for maximum comfort. Ziggy.

“Ziggy, what?” you ask the cat, expecting nothing less than the little ‘mrrow’ that he supplies. He’s Hannah’s cat— familiar, technically, adopted last year— a long-haired Maine Coon barely one year old and already giant. The cat has taken to you as of late, maybe in the realization that because you’re taller than Hannah, there’s a greater surface area for loafing. You’d wondered when he was first adopted if he would ever speak, but your roommate told you that unless you were a Druid, you couldn’t understand his speech anyway. It never stopped Ziggy from being talkative even, yes, in the middle of the night.

You pull your attention away from the great loaf on your chest as the pains from last night start again, having pulled you in and out of a fitful sleep. Fumbling for the bottle of generic painkillers on your nightstand, you pop one down and hope it suffices for the moment and think about taking one in a few hours.

You check the time. 8:17, still a little under two hours before you had to be in your first class of the day. You thank past you for picking course slots that go later into the day rather than an early start, but then, you’d never been a so-called morning person anyway. Still, you want to look presentable, so you nudge Ziggy off your chest (sorry buddy, you have the right idea, and I’ll make it up to you later) and get officially started on your day. As well as can be done with debilitating bodily pains. First step should be changing into day clothes, but dammit, you’re comfy in these pajamas, so you put it off just a bit longer.

Hannah’s already awake downstairs, of course, cobbling together a little something called breakfast before she gets ready for her classes. She’d started off at community college, and after fate revealed that she was a witch, the option of taking magic-related courses opened itself up to her. As any smart person would do, she snatched up that opportunity to devour any and all things magical knowledge in her further academia. Fortunately, the nearest magic program wasn’t too much further than her original school had been, removing the need to up and move somewhere distant. You wonder if a similar chance will present itself to you once word of your transformation gets back to the Council.

The High Council of All Matters Dark and Magical, as its official name translated to. A name like that gave a sense of wonderment to the dissonance between its appearance and its title; unless you looked very closely, its members blended in near perfectly with common society, with a bit of leeway for the eccentricities that accompany wielding magic and other powers. As interesting as it all sounds, you have a strong sense of certainty that you would rather just learn vampire stuff on the side, or maybe after completing your ecology degree. Not that you wanted to walk around like a total rookie bloodsucker for the rest of your time, but environmental studies were still very important in your book and you’d worked too hard to get this far just to give it up.

Besides, maybe a happy medium was aground— tacking on one or two more classes in a semester related to the supernatural might not hurt, since you’re only taking three courses now as a part-time student. Finishing school faster sounds nice but it isn’t practical for someone who needs to also work part-time (you) and is hoping for volunteer opportunities in school to polish their resume (also you.) You continue to get ready until the last few minutes you can safely linger without risking tardiness, and then head off.

***

First class of the day is introductory genetics. It was both difficult and a little boring to you, especially at ten in the morning, but you try to pay attention because you don’t want your decent grades to flop. It’s near the middle of March, so courses have been going for weeks now, but your instructor for this class made some jumps around content in the interest of time. The current topic focuses on genetic diseases and inheritance, and while you aren’t super invested, one of the lecture slides does pique your interest. Your professor describes a disease called phenylketonuria, shortened to PKU, an inherited metabolic condition where the amino acid phenylalanine isn’t metabolized at proper levels, leading to potential buildup of phenylalanine in the body and detrimental side effects. (%) Basically, people with this condition need to maintain a strict diet— the last word of which really makes you perk up and clean your ears out to listen better. You have a thing for diets, to say the least; nutrition and dietetics would be your calling were it not for the fact that you regularly engaged in markedly unhealthy behaviors, and that you already had a declared major. An outsider might chalk it up to a little obsession, but a professional a few years ago preferred to call it an eating disorder. Since that point, you’d more or less recovered a little bit, but still had periods of quasi-relapse like right now. You take note to consult your book later about a suitable vampire diet.

You tune out a little after that train of thought but catch enough of the part about PKU to learn that people with PKU can go the rest of their lives consuming specialized drinks that contain all the necessary nutrients for their survival.

It’s the perfect excuse for if you suddenly can only consume blood and must turn down normal human food for the rest of your years— presuming you never run into someone who actually _has_ phenylketonuria. You then immediately feel like a terrible person for conjuring such an awful lie that you might not even need, and you feel as bad as you should.

The fifty minutes of teaching and contemplating bad lies passes, and with little fanfare, you hustle to your next class. Other than this little blip, the rest of the day passes uneventfully. (%)

***

A break in your schedule for lunch comes around 1 P.M., and you graciously use the time to pick up a semblance of lunch from the sushi-burrito place on campus, a ‘burrito’ with salmon, cucumbers, brown rice, and a whole host of other ingredients that somehow harmonize quite well. You also take the time, folded up behind a stairwell on the second floor of some building, to ask your book the burning question. Looking around twice to make sure no one’s within hearing range, you whisper: “Hey book, give me information on vampire diets. Thanks.” You keep the question short in the interest of time, and this appears on the page:

> As is commonly known, vampires require blood to survive. This need is both physical and psychological in nature, causing detriment to vampires who abstain or are barred from drinking blood. Animal blood of most any kind will suffice, but in general it has been found that higher order animals provide far better long-term sustenance than lower order animals. Mortal humans are classified in this instance as one of the highest order beings and are indisputably the best source of blood readily available to most vampires. These mortals do not need to be killed for feeding unless a vampire desires to consume their life essence. Although consumption of life essence produces psychologically and emotionally pleasant effects, these results are short-term and can become quite addictive if absorbed in high frequency. Vampires can consume many mortal foods that they enjoyed before transformation in full taste, but these foods provide no significant nutrients to the vampire and are rarely completely digested and may on occasion cause a short-lived yet painful sickness. The need for blood begins early in the transformation period and has been observed to start in as little as two to three days after affliction with vampirism. During this period, consumption of mortal foods or other products may cause developmental defects or, more commonly, bodily upset.

So, in other words, you were going to return that burrito to sender pretty soon in a partially digested format? You’re nothing short of disgusted and panicked. Will you actually throw up the burrito? Is it super painful? And, most important, how the hell are you going to get blood to drink? The thought of feeding on anything that’s alive and wiggling right now makes you squeamish.

You need answers, sooner rather than later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't worry, Papyrus and co. will come back in soon, I promise. After all, you can only turn down offers of his cooking for so long before someone gets suspicious...


	5. Vampires aren't Good Liars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You finally do get to take a sip of that sweet nectar (noice) and meet some new acquaintances.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (%) Warning for mention of vomit. Also this whole chapter is about getting blood finally, so there's not really a way to skim over that...

What your book failed to mention, you now know, is that your thirst for blood would set in so soon and so _strong_. You felt so creepy, blood filling your thoughts more and more, if you could just get one taste, just one, more, until—

“Hannah. Hannah!” You yell from the upstairs bathroom. You hear footsteps clamber up the stairs and then a knock on the bathroom door, which you wasted no time to bust open. “I need your help. Please, I can’t take it anymore,” you begin, desperation forcing your words, “It hurts so much. I’m sorry. I’m sorry I didn’t say anything before but we were both busy and I didn’t think it would be a problem until now, now it is, it’s here, and I feel like I’m losing my god damn mind—” You’re a mess, certainly. You’ve tried to stave off the hunger until now, and it for the most part worked. You went to class, went to work, tried to focus, and it worked for a little bit, up until today. And you know you look a mess, too; eyes bulging, hair ratty and disheveled, extremities cold and sweaty.

Hannah doesn’t even look at the rest of you before she says, “Holy shit! Do you need to go to the hospital, oh my god, you know what we’ll drive right now don’t worry—” she begins to panic too, not what you need at all.

You cut her off. “Hannah, you know what I need. Please. I know it’s bad, but the changes are finally… hitting. I don’t know who to go to, how to get to the council from here.”

“You. I… chief, what?! You didn’t tell me this whole time? What the hell!” Hannah starts to grow irate, with both concern and anger plastered on her face. “You know what? You. I- ugh. Okay, Morrigan, let’s just take a moment so that way I don’t strangle you for not telling me that you need to go to the Council building because it’s so. Damn. Easy!” She forces you and her both to inhale, hold it, then exhale a few times until things simmer down just a notch.

“Alright, it’s, what, 9 A.M.? Yeah, I think they’re open by now. Take this,” she says, and grabs a hairbrush to plant in your hand, “and start making yourself look decent. As best you can. Business casual,” she throws in before hurrying out the door to her room, the sound of hangers clacking madly against one another in her search for something nice to wear. At a much slower pace, you begin brushing your hair and face the mirror to try and absorb just how awful you look.

There’s no longer any doubt of the red color splotching your irises. It isn’t a complete color change, and it kind of blends in with the brown of your eyes, but it wouldn’t take a genius to see there’s a difference. You tease your hair with the brush to give the illusion of volume, but it’s hard to hide the fact that some of the ends have split and fallen off as of late. Not much you can do in that regard for the moment.

You throw together an ensemble that speaks not to endless wealth, or even much of a fashion sense, but it does take the unsettling edge out of your hampered appearance. Hannah, on the other hand, took the reigns on sophistication and looks urbane as ever. As if she’d just as soon head the council with her purple blouse, dark slacks, and funky geometric white earrings, her hair pulled back into a bun to keep every last ringlet in place. Hannah gives you a once-over, a thumbs up, and then turns to pull something out of a dresser drawer. It’s a tiny model of a door, no bigger than her cellphone, carved from a dark red wood with a pattern of human footprints running up the length of the door.

“This,” she starts, “is the key.”

“That looks more like a door than a key…”

“No sher, shitlock. This little door will grant us access to a Lengthy Hallway, which will let us travel to the Council Quaternary Location at the local chapter. Let me set it up really quick, it’ll just take a moment,” explains Hannah, pushing her dresser aside to create a big, clear space. She sets the door against the open wall and backs up, closes her eyes and presses her palms together, pointing her joined hands toward the door. After a few minutes, the model door begins to glow and the air around it warps as it scales to roughly the size of a normal door. Hannah turns to Ziggy— now awake from his nap due to the commotion— and gives him a kiss, with the promise that we’ll return shortly. “Yeah, this better not take all day. I have to work later.” For this statement you receive a short glare, then reaches out to turn the doorknob. “Stick by and close the door behind you. I’m not paying to heat the magic hallway.”

You step through, Hannah first, and close the door behind you. She turns to repeat her earlier process, and the little door proceeds to shrink until it peels off the wall with a little ‘pop!’ and a thunk onto the floor.

You’re surprised to see that the hallway ahead of you is well-lit (even if the source of said light isn’t discernible), your shadows reflecting off the glassy, bright white walls. There is a multitude of doors in the stretch before you of varying sizes and shapes, some hardly fit for humanoid entrance. Some doors are labeled, but many of them aren’t, and you have to wonder how anyone remembers what each door leads to without them.

Hannah stops in front of a large green wooden door with golden embellishments around the panels, topped with a metal placard that says “COUNCIL”. “Well, here we are!” She knocks on the door and seconds later, it swings open. “For these doors to work, there has to be an opener on the other side to open the door, otherwise you’re basically stuck in the hallway until they come back. The council just has an automatic opener, though, since it would be a waste to have someone stand here all day.” She gestures to the hand sticking out from the wall, attached to a metal crisscrossed contraption that allows it to extend out from the wall toward the door. You sincerely hope the severed hand is fake. The two of you hop into an elevator ahead, the likes of which may be the strangest elevator you’ve ever seen. It’s rectangular of course, but there are multiple sets of buttons covering every wall, some of which have no numbers or just letters, and a few have foreign, flashing symbols flicking on and off every few seconds. If it weren’t for the pressing matter at hand, you feel you could spend a great chunk of time in here, arbitrarily mashing buttons. Hannah, with far more sense, pressed the correct one long ago, eyes you suspiciously with a silent warning.

The Council building is nothing special save for its sheer size. It’s far more massive than you imagine an office space could be, and the halls stretch near infinitely in either direction, although this is perhaps part of the illusion to ward off unsavory visitors. The space is far too bright and sterile for your liking, and the sounds of a Tracy Chapman song floating quietly out from an unseen speaker serve only to tinge the atmosphere with dread. Part of you feels that your apprehension is borne of the crazed hunger that still racks your mind.

You and Hannah arrive at a receptionist’s desk and are greeted by a faceless woman in a bright pink fitted jacket and black undershirt, her lack of features framed by a short brown bob cut and bangs. You’re glad that Hannah’s with you because you’re certain you couldn’t bring yourself to speak to the secretary on your own. The woman, who is typing away on her computer, moves her face up toward the two of you in silence. Hannah takes charge and asks, “Excuse me, hi, my friend and I here were hoping maybe you could point us to the blood registrar’s office.” The woman considers the question, then spins in her chair so she’s facing away from you; she grabs her hair on the back and moves it upward, and there’s a bright pink pair of lips where the nape of her neck is and she responds.

“Oh, of course! Generally, you’d need an appointment, but we do accept walk-ins today and on Thursdays. So,” she says, flicking up a piece of paper from a stack that has a little map printed out on it, “we’re here, and the easiest way to get to that office is going out into the hall, take the second left, third door down.” Her tone is cheery and eager, and jarring in comparison to her appearance. You feel bad for your first impression and look for a nametag to thank her. “Thank you, miss…. Christina.” She smiles, lets go of her hair, and turns around and focuses her blank visage back toward her computer.

Soon enough, you arrive at the door to the registrar’s office by the guide of the map. You’re thankful for Hannah’s apparent previous experience with newly minted vampires and tell her such. A rap on the door and it opens moments later— and greets you with the sight of an orange, impish monster with a wide smile and black eyes.

“Yes? What is it?” their tone is plain and serene.

“Hi, uh, I’m here because, well… so, I’m a vampire, and I need blood…” it’s hard for you to string together anything more coherent, so the words tumble out gracelessly. The monster, professional as ever, simply nods and asks, “First and last name, please?”

“First name Morrigan, last name Albright.”

“Date of birth?”

“Ah, March 10th,” you say as you also supply the year.

“Hmm, only four days have passed since then. Congratulations.” You suppose it’s their form of saying happy belated birthday, so you give quiet thanks.

“Yes, you are in the registrar. I will send this paperwork over to this department’s processor; in the meantime, you may visit with a practitioner in the Eastern Wing to begin blood transfusion and receival of an initial supply. They will guide you from there.” With practiced efficiency, the monster makes a few more inputs into a computer, and then takes your map and draws a path to your next destination.

“Thank you so much, I really appreciate it.”

“Of course,” they supply, “I wish you best of luck in your endeavor. It is a collective effort to prevent worst outcomes, after all.” You grimace at the last part of that statement, and wonder what a poor outcome could look like. What happens if you don’t get blood soon?

You meet up with Hannah, who’d stood out in the hallway in respect for your privacy. You definitely owe her for all this effort. You check the time; it’s only been about 35 minutes since your arrival here. Without fail, you come to room 60 of the Eastern Wing, as the registrar directed, and knock on the frame of the open door. They must’ve notified the practitioner of your arrival, because the older gentleman before you looks unphased by your sudden appearance.

“Albright, correct? Pleasure to meet you, I’m Dr. Hernandez. Yes, please come in. Take a seat while you’re at it.” Room 60 looks like a standard doctor’s office, save for the two huge refrigerators in one corner shouldered by a smaller white cooler. You sit, and after Dr. Hernandez looks over your paperwork, he pulls on a fresh set of disposable gloves and smiles. “It says here your blood type was AB+, which means you’re in luck. AB positive is the universal receiver. This is going to make the process go much smoother.” Wait, was? Why did he speak in past tense? He picks up on your confusion, because he follows up with, “You have a bit of blood left in your body, since your change only initiated four days ago, but it has steadily been drying over the past week. Once the transformation is complete, you will have none of your own blood left in your body. That’s why you must drink the blood of others to continue surviving— why else would we do it?” His smile flashes a bit of fang, revealing that he too is a vampire. “Before I begin, do you have any questions for me? Anything is on the table.”

You gulp and then start, “I uh, heard that the best kind of blood is human blood, but I imagine it’s kind of hard to come by, and frankly I don’t want to attack or kill other people…” he nods in understanding. “Ah, the centuries-old conundrum. You aren’t the first patient to come in here with a moral quandary, nor will you be the last. Fortunately, we have other, modern sources of blood that allow for feeding without the need to go hunting for yourself all the time. That’s what these refrigerators are for.” To demonstrate, he opens up the one nearest to him and showcases a number of clear bags filled with a dark substance lining the shelves. “This branch of the council is fortunate enough to be able to procure enough blood for every vampire on the local registrar, due to the small size of the town, but many choose to supplement their diet with freshly hunted blood, especially those with a greater desire for life essence. You need not concern yourself with that, though, rest assured you will be supplied, as necessary.”

He turns to a piece of medical equipment nearby and begins to fiddle with it. “Now, because this is your first visit, part of the blood must be transfused before you can begin drinking it. Tell me, as a human, have you ever donated blood before?” You nod, then add, “I have, but I haven’t been allowed to for a while now, because my previous bloodwork says I’m lacking in a lot of different vitamins. Does that matter?”

“Not really. You might experience a prolonged headache or a bit of dizziness after transfusion, but if you are otherwise healthy, it shouldn’t be an issue.” Well, that’s reassuring. You hope that the headache won’t necessitate missing work.

Dr. Hernandez finishes his preparation and takes your arm of choice (your non-burned arm, of course), and begins searching for a suitable vein much like a human doctor would. Once located, the transfusion process takes a bit longer than the normal transfusion process because you’re gaining blood. Afterward, you do feel a bit dizzy, but also a little giddy, strangely. A kind of tired euphoria like you’ve never experienced washes over you, and it’s all you can do to strangle back a manic grin. Certainly, the exhaustion from earlier begins to wane.

“Alright, now that that’s out of the way, we will move on to the second step in the process. How do you feel?” You smile and give a thumbs-up, to which Dr. Hernandez chuckles as he cleans up, “Ah, the first time is always the strongest, it seems. You’ll come to enjoy it, I’m sure.” He then opens up the other refrigerator, populated by small white boxes. He pulls one out and hands it to you. You can’t help but stifle a laugh— it looks like a little white juice box, with a round cap to twist off on the top. It’s blank, save for small writing on the top that provides an expiration date and lot number. Nothing to reveal that there’s blood inside.

You twist open the top and smell it, expecting immediate disgust; instead, you’re greeted by a sharp, almost metallic, fruity scent. Like if you covered a penny in applesauce. You go for it and take a hesitant sip of the blood, and blink in surprise. Maybe you feel you shouldn’t be surprised— bloodsucking is now in your nature, after all— and eagerly drink the rest of it. God, it’s so fucking good, tangy in all the right ways, and you have to restrain yourself from chugging it entirely, instead electing to take small, slow sips. You feel energized, refreshed after finishing it.

“Feel any better?” Dr. Hernandez asks, looking up from his computer.

“Oh absolutely. I’m a little bit dizzy still, but I feel so much better.” You don’t mention that you’re desperate for more, that you’d drink the whole fridge’s worth right now if you could, but you’re sure Dr. Hernandez understands.

“Glad to hear it! I will continue to fill out this part of the paperwork and send it back to the registrar for processing, but in the meantime, I won’t keep you any longer unless you have questions.”

“No, none that I can think of.”

“Alright, well,” he says, as he gets up and opens the fridge again, “let me send you off with a supply for today. This should last you the rest of the week, but if you need more, do not hesitate to call and I can supply more in shorter notice. Future supplies will be shipped to your address on file, but you can change this with the registrar if you’d rather receive them in person. Keep in mind that these boxes need to be refrigerated and stay cold.” He hands you a big, lined box filled with the little juice boxes, then adds, “If you have any questions, please feel free to call during business hours. If you try to call after-hours, you’ll be directed to the emergency hotline.” He procures a little business card and hands it to you; you note that, according to the hours, he works overnight and is near the end of his shift for the day. You then wonder if your sleep patterns are going to change.

Box in hands, card in pocket, you give thanks and exit the room. Hannah (who didn’t want to see the transfusion) is in a nearby chair, scrolling through her phone. She looks up. “Hey, how’d it go? How do you feel?” You smile and tell her that you feel much better now, and to that she stands up to leave.

“Cool, I’m glad they gave you the stuff you needed. Let’s get outta here so I can maybe slip in a nap before my late class.” The two of you head back, similar to how you entered, and you can’t help but smile with hope that the rest of the day will be just as good.

***

The rest of your day, as it happens, is not as good. You’re at work, it’s hot out, and more than one customer sees you as a big red target for their problems. Mrs. Holter thankfully backs you up whenever they demand to speak to your boss, not to mention the cheery attitude Papyrus brings and peppers in throughout your shift. His first day was a couple days ago, not including the day of his interview, and he has proven a quick, adept learner, a fact for which you’re grateful. His eagerness to learn is why you choose today to introduce him to the forklift— not the driving part, yet, just the escorting. That, and someone ordered a pallet of product earlier in the day.

After you finish tending to a current customer’s needs, you find him facing the shelves of pest control and weed killer inside the store. “Hey, Papyrus, come with me, I need your help with something.” He sets the product down and walks beside you, with questions about the task at hand. You stave him off until you get closer to the back, where a gas-powered yellow forklift sits at the ready.

“Alright, chief, I need you to spot me on the forklift.”

“WE SELLS FORKS HERE? I DIDN’T EVEN KNOW! THEY MUST BE GIANT!” He grins at his own joke, and you laugh too— even if he groans at your lame puns, he has an affinity to bust out a few of his own every now and then. You point to a pallet of retaining wall blocks, and then to a white pickup truck idling a little ways away next to an open gate. “Got a music preference?”

He considers your question and supplies, “Anything with lots of bass that I can feel in my bones! Or anything you find electrifying!” You’ve got just the mix for that on your phone, and after some quick moves, your device blasts a mix of songs from TOOL, Rush, Stone Temple Pilots, and other rock and grunge bands fit for a playlist. You hope this is what Papyrus meant, unsure if he’s ever even heard of these bands. It makes you wonder what monster music is like.

“Take these little flags and hold them out for signals. Don’t stick too close to me, but don’t go too far ahead either.” He gives a hearty nod and takes up his task, and you scoop up the pallet to be placed in the bed of the pickup. He helps you to position the forklift in line with the bed of the truck, and you park and shut the machine off. “Alright, here’s the hard part. These pallets have 200 blocks on them, but this guy only wants 150. So, we have to offload them by hand.” You confirm with the truck’s owner that yes, he would like 150, and that it is okay for the both of you to get up into the back of the truck. You slap your ratty, worn gloves on, then hoist yourself up into the bed. “Since you’re taller, I’ll do the bending and lay the blocks down. Just hand them up to me, please.” The two of you fall into a comfortable rhythm of handing up blocks, stacking them in rows of 10 by 5 tall, counting, and toiling in silence to the sound of Scott Weiland singing about the flies in the Vaseline. Soon enough, the blocks are accounted for, and you jump off the bed to remove the forklift so the guy can leave. Papyrus is the first to speak up when you lower the forks and park.

“WOWIE, WHO KNEW THAT GARDENING IS SO RIGOROUS? UNDYNE WILL SURELY BELIEVE ME NOW!” He hasn’t broken a sweat (if that’s even possible for skeletons to do), so maybe he’s acting like it’s hard for your sake. You, on the other hand, are attempting to hide the shallow breaths now leaking from your gasping mouth. Not that you’re much out of shape or something, but the constant bending motion puts a strain on your back. It doesn’t help that as of late, you’ve had to wear long-sleeved shirts and hoodies for sun protection along with high SPF sunscreen, racking up the heat throughout the day. Unfortunately, Papyrus notices your slow recovery because he then asks, “Morrigan, are you okay?” A simple question, but it’s tinged with the same concern he’s eyeballed (eyesocketed?) you with ever since that initial incident. As if he expects you to burst into flames at any moment, which you’re a bit surprised has failed to be an issue yet.

“Yeah, I’m all good. Just a little winded.”

“Oh, but I meant, ‘are you okay’ overall! I, ever-observant Papyrus, have noticed changes in your health as of late! I don’t intend to be an intrusive friend, but it’s clear to me that you are in need of the expert aid of a true pal!” He frowns slightly and adds, “Regretfully, you can’t call me Dr. Papyrus. Not to worry! Instead, I’ll be forced to help you in another role of mine— MASTER CHEF PAPYRUS! It’s clear to me, human, that you need a gift, and I know just the thing!” You weren’t expecting him to call you out like that, and you also weren’t expecting the text that buzzes in your pocket a moment later, from the skeleton standing right beside you:

PAPYRUS: I am making dinner after work, and you are welcome to partake!

You laugh, take the bait, and text back:

YOU: Hell yeah, I’m down for that.

He grins, clearly estatic, and tells you aloud to come over whenever you get off work. You smile, with the hope that maybe tonight will erase any traces of doubt and your initial hesitation about the guy. Here he was, so willing to call you a friend and come to your aid— someone you could really appreciate given the tough week. Papyrus then claims that “the rest of my work won’t complete itself!”, turns, and goes back to his previous task, leaving you to the next few hours of your shift.

***

A few hours and a change of clothing later (in case you meet any more royalty in your visit), and you’re on the doorstep of one loud co-worker. You knock on the door and are promptly greeted by Papyrus in a long red apron with a hock of meat on the front, with sunglasses and flames, that reads “when I cook, I go HAM!” You enter the cozy home and take your hoodie off to reveal a T-shirt with your favorite video game plastered across the front. You take stock of the room and notice two monsters you’ve never met— a shorter, stocky skeleton in a blue hoodie, and a taller blue monster with bright red hair whipped into a ponytail. The skeleton doesn’t bother to turn toward you and raises his hand in a half-wave; the other monster, however, gets out of her seat and comes to meet you.

“So, you’re Papyrus’s boss he’s been going on about?” She’s still a respectable distance away, but you gather that she has a bright yellow eye and a wicked smile.

“I guess you could say that, but not really,” you correct. “We do the same job; I just have seniority over him.” Her grin widens anyway, and she laughs. “Well, there’s gotta be SOMETHING he likes about a punk like you! Man, for the past couple days, he will not SHUT UP about his new job!” You don’t expect the strange praise but take it into stride with thanks. She thrusts her hand out for a handshake. “Well come on, put ‘er there!” You oblige and receive a markedly slow but firm gentle handshake— not what you expected at all. She knows this, because she shrugs and sheepishly says, “My girlfriend has been trying to get me to ‘tone it down’ when I meet new people, because I know I can be a little much for her sometimes. But you’re not her, so don’t expect me to go easy on you!”

“Noted, uh… who are you?”

“Name’s Undyne, the one and only! I’m pretty sure I’m the only, anyway.” Ah, you think, so this is the same person Papyrus mentioned who doesn’t believe in the rigors of gardening, but that’s an argument for later.

“’AHEM’, IF YOU TWO ARE FINISHED FRATERNIZING… DINNER’S READY!” You look at the dining table, set with four places, and take a seat on one side. Papyrus wastes no time to hand you dinner: a heaping plate of hot spaghetti with two breadsticks off to the side. Undyne takes a seat next to you, and Papyrus is in the living room talking to the short monster. Whatever he says is convincing enough to get the little skeleton to come sit kitty-corner your seat, and the two of you finally meet eyes. You notice he has pinpricks of light in his eyesockets, unlike Papyrus. Maybe they’re friends?

“Brother, I haven’t heard you introduce yourself yet!” Oh.

“what’s good. name’s snas, snas the skeleton.”

Papyrus, still standing, groans and drags a hand down his face. “Don’t let my brother fool you— his name is Sans and he’s in incurable comedian.” Even with his long sigh, Papyrus doesn’t imply that he’s actually annoyed by these antics. After this, the four of you quickly tuck into dinner, a flavorsome, finely crafted meal— well, three of you, as Papyrus doesn’t have any spaghetti on his plate.

“Papyrus, this is fantastic! Why aren’t you eating any of it?” You ask between bites.

“EAT THE SPAGHETTI?”

“Y… yes?”

“BUT WHAT IF IT’S POISONED?”

At that, you swallow wrong and begin coughing in surprise. As Undyne starts thumping your back, she says, “What?! Papyrus, YOU made this!”

“You’re right! And I’d never try to poison me!” With that, he gets up to fill his plate as your coughing fit subsides.

Over the course of dinner, you make idle chat with the group, except for Sans, who doesn’t do much in the way of talking. He does watch your interactions though, with a measured degree of interest. After dinner, the four of you move to the living room at Papyrus’s insistence and put the TV on in the background. It isn’t long before you feel a painful churning in your stomach, which you try to power through, but eventually the nausea is too much, and you ask where the bathroom is. (%)

A quick thanks and you head down the hallway, one hand on your stomach and the other on your mouth. You barely flip the light switch on and crumple to the floor before throwing up in the toilet, shaking and heaving as the acidic taste of marinara sauce makes a second go-round. You hear footsteps down the hall and feel your hair pulled back out of the way. When it’s finally over, the mystery someone runs the tap and hands helps you up. It’s Papyrus, of course, worry clear in his expression. “What happened?” is all he asks.

“Don’t know. I was fine before dinner, and then after eating it just didn’t sit right. That doesn't speak to how good the cooking was, though, trust me! I feel a lot better now though, more or less. Thanks for holding my hair back.” (%)

This doesn’t placate him, though, and Papyrus guides you back to the couch to rest. Papyrus won’t be satisfied, it seems, until he can grab you something to help, so you gesture to your jacket on the rack and tell him to reach into the pocket. He obliges and brings back a little white juice box, which you gladly accept and twist open, careful to hide the contents.

“you carry grape juice on you?” A harmless if odd question, in reference to the dark stains on your lips, but you need to ward off suspicion.

“No, it’s a special drink for my condition. I have something called phenylketonuria, which means that I have to drink a specialized diet to regulate my proteins.” You pray that your face doesn’t expose your two lies— that you have PKU, and that someone with PKU would’ve accepted the spaghetti in the first place and hate that you feel compelled to lie to your acquaintances and friend. Sans doesn’t show any suspicion though, and he nods. “it is what it is, right? well, hey, at least my bro was here to swoop in and save you.” You truly are grateful for that. After he makes sure you’re better, Papyrus and Undyne head up to his room to, as they put it, ‘go over the latest battle scenario’. That leaves just you and Sans on the couch, and you don’t feel it would be right to just up and leave, so you hang around on your phone.

It’s silent for a few minutes, before Sans asks, “he’s pretty cool, right?”

“Yeah, and he’s great at work to boot. Always brings in the good moods.”

Sans glances over at you before staring straight ahead. “do you think papyrus is the type of guy to keep secrets?” His question strikes you a bit. Is he on to you?

“No, I don’t, but you’d know that better than I would.”

“you’re right, I would. now, i don’t mean the secrets like what you got your friend for gyftmas. I mean the kind that could really hurt if they got out.” He doesn’t give you time to reply before he continues. “now, i trust my bro a lot. and I try to trust who he makes friends with, y’know, trust the process and all that. so I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt, ‘cause he sees something worth befriending in you. he tries so hard to make friends with every human he meets.” You’re sweating bullets now on the inside, trying to keep a cool demeanor, but he emphasized the word ‘human’ for a reason.

“hey pal, easy. im not tryin’ to scare you or something. just curious, is all. besides, I said he wasn’t good at keeping secrets— im a different story. your secret’s safe with me.” Fuck, he’s got you now!

“i know that isn’t grape juice in that juice box. it’s clearly pomegranate.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Does Sans know your secret? He didn't outright call you a liar, I don't think that's the Sans method of figuring stuff out. Also, for me, having Sans speak in anything but lowercase is kind of weird, sorry for anyone who doesn't jive with that.
> 
> I tried to be accurate enough in describing the whole 'getting the blood' ordeal, but a lot of this shit gets made up as I go, honestly. Which will likely come to bite me in the ass when there's more chapters for continuity. Nothing you readers have to worry about working on, though!


	6. Vampires are Good at Hide, Just Not the Seek part

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You go to Toriel's cookout, where absolutely nothing goes wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, the tag says that Asgore and Toriel are in a relationship- but right now it's a bit complicated, and strained. Frisk is working on that.  
> (%) where I go into detail about your food. Minor injury in this chapter.

April. A little grace period for what you feel has been a rough couple of weeks, ever since the incident in mid-March. The weather alternates from one hour to the next, bluish clouds rolling in to further cover the meek pillar of sunshine spilling down over the mountains and onto your town. The tiny purple flowers that blanket your front lawn and mark the occasional sidewalk crack reach up, all in desperation to soak in glimpses of sunlight poking through the holes in the sky down from the heavens.

Suffice to say, things had smoothed out a bit as of late. Not completely flat, but more like how you can feel bumps and raised points in the floors of cheap old buildings; your bumps came in the form of trouble gaining a solid command of your newfound powers, while having to navigate school and work. You’d saved this passage from your book on your phone in a locked note, as a metric to learn whether or not your development was normal:

> Vampiric powers in general follow a similar pattern of development, but the rate and strength of occurrence depends on the individual. In the first week of transformation, the blood dries and the vampire must begin feeding, alongside ocular advancements— namely enhanced nocturnal vision and transition of iris color. Increased sensitivity to natural light also begins in this phase. In the weeks following initial transformation, dental structure alters and the upper and lower cuspids of the mouth elongate and sharpen to a retractable point. The individual’s reflection gradually begins to fade and may disappear entirely or only slightly. Facial and body features may become more refined or remain relatively the same as in the mortal state. The development of these features depends on frequency and amount of life essence consumed alongside regular consumption of blood; this is to say, increased consumption of life essence will in almost all cases alter one’s countenance to that of an unearthly beauty and afford them much of the enhanced physical abilities described above. It should be noted that increased life essence consumption leads to a total loss of reflection and difficulty blending in with common society— a result of vampires’ abusive dependencies on life essence. Beyond these two weeks, final developments may occur, and vampires can gain the power to become invisible to the naked eye. This power is not without fault, and due to the total absorption or reflection of light upon visibility loss, a vampire’s eyes also become invisible and therefore temporarily incapacitated from visual processing.

The color of your eyes had changed, your blood had dried, and the ‘increased sensitivity to natural light’ was an understatement— you were still on the hunt for sunscreens higher than SPF 100+. You weren’t sure if the other changes would be just as painful as the initial ones, or if the powers that be would cut you some slack. They didn’t.

The first change you noted happened one night when you got up to use the bathroom. You turned on the light, having to squint under what felt like far too bright a bulb. After flipping the switch off, the little pain subsided, and you continued your actions seeing perfectly fine in the darkness. The next couple of days after that had seen your reflection begin to fade, but only slightly enough to make you wonder if it’s really happening. You needed a second set of eyes for this one, so you enlisted Hannah’s help there.

“Oh yeah, it’s definitely a bit weird.” Is all she says at first.

“Weird? Weird how?”

“Well, it’s like you, but more… transparent? Like you’re still there, of course, but I can see the woodwork of the door behind you.” She was right, of course. You were still there, all in one piece, just more… see-through in the mirror. The fading progressed until you could just barely make out your reflection or appearance in pictures, instead replaced by a faint imprint of your visage, which you think deeply on. Before now, still in the grips of your disorder, you would’ve been over the moon to say goodbye to your reflection, to the constant bodychecking, desperate fingers always digging into inches of skin, prying them apart. Ah, who were you kidding? That sort of loss instills a terrible type of existentialism in anyone used to a means of grounding themselves and you struggled to squash down your internal panic.

The fangs were a different story, not so nonchalant an alteration; wisdom teeth afterpain seemed a walk in the park compared to the terrible ache of your canines growing sharper. More than once— at least, until they stopped developing so you could retract them— you awoke with black scabs on your lips where the teeth had cut your mouth, to which your solution was to slather them in an unholy amount of lanolin until they were soft as a baby’s butt.

The true test came approximately one week later, in the days leading up to this week. Perhaps as a continued theme of your faded reflection, you learnt that you’d gained the ability of invisibility, in the worst kind of way— in the middle of your introduction to limnology and freshwater studies class. The professor went on and on about how freshwater animals gain water, and you’d been beyond lucky, sitting in the back of the class as you began to disappear silently and rapidly, along with your vision. One quick squint at the space where your hand should be removed all hesitation, and you all but bolted out of class to a nearby restroom stall, bashing into an unseen vending machine along the way. It took nearly ten minutes before you reappeared again along with your vision, the sole instance that day when you lost visibility. The resulting awkward conversation (yes, the professor noticed you’d booked it from class in the middle of lecture) was something you wish you could kick from your memory.

You shift your thoughts from the remnants of weeks’ past and try to focus on your work task at hand, sweeping up the paths between plant displays. The sound alone of your swish, swishing broom and the occasional passing car punctuates the air until your phone begins screaming. Well, ringing with a screaming ringtone— the whistling sound and climax from “Big Enough”, the only tone you found fitting to assign the energetic Papyrus. You take the call and set the broom aside to duck into the back office, thankful that Mrs. Holter is on lunch for the moment.

“Hello?”

“GREETINGS, MORRIGAN! How is my favorite friend with your name?”

“Good, all quiet on the Western front. What’d you want?”

“FANTASTIC! I’ll see you there!” Click.

“Wait, Papyrus, see me wh- oh for fuck’s sake.” You smile despite yourself and call him back. You don’t even give him the chance to say hello before you begin speaking.

“Papyrus, you’ll see me where? You didn’t even tell me what I’m invited to!”

“OH, THAT. Well, we” (which usually meant himself and all his closest pals) “are having a cookout tomorrow afternoon at Toriel’s house, and everyone is eager to see you there!”

“Hey, I’m down for that! Any occasion?” He responds in the negatory, save for the fact the weather forecast calls for a fantastically sunny day tomorrow. A few more details later and you’ve hung up, eager for the recompense the weekend cookout will bring. The brunt of your interactions with Papyrus go something like that, albeit much longer sometimes. He’s often unpredictable in the best kind of way, even if most of what he says errs on the side of brash, a cocktail of confidence and joy. His concern for your recent developments is near unparalleled (mostly because he’s the only other friend you see besides Hannah), although he’s been far more worried than you believe he should be about his friends— you’re an adult, you can care for yourself. For the most part. He isn’t without his annoyances, but you don’t want friends that are anywhere near perfect, just ones that continue to be a shining beacon in your recently thrown-askew life. There’s another thought there though, hardly a glimmer of a different feeling that moves too fast for your mind to grasp onto in any meaningful capacity.

***

Black shirt? Check. Purple flannel? Check. Bitchin’ shades? Check. Everything else? Well, you’re never 100% prepared, as they say. You’re just going to a cookout; this is more than presentable enough.

You weren’t the one to drive this time— you’d received the go ahead from Papyrus to invite Hannah along, because you felt it only fair for her to finally meet your good friend and co. Ever the socialite, Hannah baked orange chocolate brownies the night before as a tasteful addition to what you guess will be a hearty, salty outdoor mix. You arrive at a stately two-story home that embodies a mixture of cozy and grand, although it isn’t as if you would expect a queen to inhabit a disheveled trap house or something. One moment you’re in the car and the next you’re up at the walkway, you can’t really remember having bailed from the car, oh god what’s happening—

“Hannah! Wait!” you hiss. “Do I look okay?”

“Don’t tell me you’re worried about that for once?” She jokes, then realizes you’re serious. “Oh. Yeah, you’re fine, but you look a bit pale… tell me, have you experienced any unusual symptoms lately? Proclivity to tell people you ‘vant to suck their blood’? Increased desire to wear capes?” Dammit, she’s yanking your chain, but she did say you look fine, so that’ll have to do. You gently punch her shoulder, which earns a head turn and a raised eyebrow. “Oh, we’re doing that now?” She punches you back on the shoulder, much harder, and it takes everything not to wince. A pain you must hide as a voice shouts, “Come in!” after a knock on the door. The interior is unsurprisingly just as tidy, save for the few markings of a child left here and there. A giant scented candle is lit on a nearby bookcase as the melted wax emits a smell of something sugary. Toriel ceases her bustling around to notice that Hannah’s holding a tray of swirled brownies, met with an “Oh, those look wonderful! Set them on the table, I’ll take them outside with the rest of the food in a moment. It is good to see you again, Morrigan! And accompanied by a friend, no less.” Hannah takes this as cue to introduce herself, shake hands, the whole ordeal.

“Feel free to head outside, if you wish to,” Toriel supplies. You don’t see a reason to remain inside any longer, so you take her instruction and open a sliding glass door to the backyard. The back portion is far larger than the front, lack of fencing offset by the surrounding coniferous white fir forest punctuated by a single tall maple tree in the near center of the yard. There are three child-sized creatures running about, monsters you recognize and ones you don’t. Notably, the one manning the grill, a tower of fur and horns wrapped up in a shirt that reads (upon further inspection), “World’s West Dad” stylized like a wanted poster. The monster continues to set up the grill but does take note of your entrance to the yard. “Howdy! I do not believe we have met. Are you two friends of Tori’s?”

“Well, more like a friend of a friend. We’re here because of Papyrus.” You look around but don’t see him.

“Ah, all the same. It is hard for many to turn down the call of friendship from such an enthusiastic monster like him. Call me Asgore.” Asgore… why is that name so familiar? You can’t place it, so you put the thought aside for later and go to introduce Hannah, but she’s already wandered off to hit it up with other guests.

“Since you are standing here… how do you like your meat cooked?”

You personally enjoy a medium rare finish on your burgers, but you impulsively reply, “Rare. I like it still almost up and walking. I hope that isn’t too weird, sorry.” Asgore looks uncomfortable, briefly, but the expression passes so quick you might’ve imagined it. He smiles, nods in the affirmative, and tells you that your food should be done in no time. You wonder if he maybe knows that humans needed to cook their foods first before eating, but then, it didn’t really matter since you don’t plan on ‘eating’ the burger. More like holding it up to your face to hide your fangs so you can sink them in and suck all the blood out. It’s a habit you’d developed as of late— drinking the blood from raw meats, along with the blood you regularly receive. It was a win-win, because you didn’t have to hunt and still gained the satisfaction of puncturing something to soak up the juice. The environmentalist in you said that it was a big waste, and that you should find a better way to sate your appetite, but you aren’t concerned for the time being. Baby steps.

In the meantime, you inch your way over to the other monsters hanging about. Undyne is here, along with a short, yellow monster you don’t recognize. You take the opportunity to use a phrase you’d recently seen and found to be so funny, it originally evoked tears of laughter as you read it at two in the morning. Suffice to say, even now you have to strangle down a laugh as you shift your face to incredibly neutral. Then,

“Yo Tony, where’d you get that fresh pepperoni?” Undyne looks confused and her companion looks ready to die inside, hopefully not from discomfort. Undyne is the first to respond: “I… oh my God, _what_ are you talking about?! Who’s Tony??” She begins to laugh in a way that suggests it’s funny because it’s unexpected, not because she understands. You turn to introduce yourself to her counterpart, who laughs with full knowledge of what you said. “A fan of ancient jokes, hmm?”

“O-oh, yeah, I guess you could say that. I’m uh, I’m Alphys, by the way. She doesn’t stick her hand out to shake and instead opts to clasp them together.

“Pleasure’s all mine. I’m Morrigan,” you start, when you notice Alphys’ lit-up face.

“Like the witch from those Magic Treehouse books I found at the dump?!” She’s so excited, and then oh, the social faux pas hits her and she’s apologetic as ever. “Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that!” You don’t have the heart to tell her that the character she’s thinking of is named Morgan instead. After, you fall into a light conversation around the nature of your original greeting, wherein you discover Alphys is a scientist and has a strong command of older technology and a knowledge of the Internet you feel is much greater than there is time to discuss it. Not long after, Asgore invites everyone to come and reap the finished products of his labor. He looks over at you, and you move across the grass to obtain one (1) undercooked dripping delight; he flops it gently onto a bun on your paper plate, and you move to grab one of Hannah’s brownies, which you wrap in a napkin and shove in your pants pocket to prevent it from being bloodied. There’s a folding table with chairs you can sit at, and you elect to sit down on the far end. Papyrus, having rounded up food of his own (which is arranged, you note, in a separated fashion), sits down next to you. He’s decked out in a faded bootleg “Space Jim” T-shirt and basketball shorts that have little basketballs… playing basketball, printed across the fabric. “SO, friend, how are you enjoying this hoodsy clambake?”

“It’s good, but this isn’t a clambake?” You hope he doesn't know the less-than-savory meaning behind that word.

“The decadent un-clambake, then!”

“I’m glad you invited me and Hannah, otherwise I’d likely be doing shit all at home right now.” That was another thing you enjoyed about Papyrus— he’d chided you for being lazy in the past, but it never felt like actual reprimand, more of a force of habit than anything. He had friends of varying energy levels, and to truly project his need for exertion onto others would be as shitty as people who try to shill their ideologies on putting 100% into everything. Sometimes, the only option was to settle for either ‘I tried’ or bust. He didn’t seem to really mind one bit, even if he acted like it. The rest of the party flocks to the table in no set intervals, and big bowls of cut fruit and salty snacks are artfully set in the center atop a festive tablecloth. After the table fills, general sounds of merriment (and the struggles of getting children to sit still) fill the air, punctuated by periods of quiet eating. You waste little time to dig in.

(%) The burger you have is large enough to obscure your mouth, thankfully. The scent of blood brings your fangs out to play, eager to pierce the warm protein and catch every last crimson drop. In order to accomplish this, you part your lips like a horse against your food as the taste you’ve grown to love flows down your throat and dribbles down your chin. You’re quick to wipe up the remnants, but not fast enough as Toriel eyes you dubiously and then throws Asgore nearby a pointed glare. She doesn’t divulge her thoughts, though, and returns to her previous demeanor. (%)

Asgore clears his throat and looks to you for conversation in a motion clearly meant to sweep whatever that just was under the rug. “So, Morrigan… you are a gardener?”

“At the amateur level, sure. No, I work in a nursery, so I mostly just sell the plants and do the pointing around.”

“Oh! Well, that is simply another means of spreading the plants, don’t you think? You know, Papyrus used to help me in my garden. He still does, sometimes, when the chance strikes.” So that’s where you remember him from, what Papyrus had said in his interview!

“That’s right, he told me about you! He mentioned that you have an affinity for buttercups?”

“That is correct. Call it favoritism, but the buttercups I grow always seem to do well by comparison to other flowers I grow,” he says, as he lists some of his other favorites. You in turn list your favorites, which include some carnivorous growths and cacti, and work toward a tangent. “I go to school for that kind of stuff, I guess. It’s interesting, but environmental studies have really changed my perspective. Don’t even get me started on my distaste for plain green lawns.” He, the layman as it were, takes the bait and asks more about lawns, the two of you now in a comfortable back-and-forth on a shared interest.

One of the kids, a little puce-colored rabbit monster in a baseball cap, turns to Frisk and asks something. Frisk nods in the affirmative, and when all three children are in agreement, they turn to Toriel. The third child, an armless dinosaur monster, blinks up at Toriel with wide eyes and asks, “Yo, Ms. Toriel! Can we go play tag, please? We’re all done!”

“TAG? MAY I JOIN IN?” Frisk gives a thumbs up toward Papyrus and signals to you, Undyne, and Hannah to also come play. Majority rules, and it’s been years since you’ve played a game outdoors like this. You stand up to toss your plate so you can go play, but Toriel stops you.

“Please, make sure the children don’t stray too far out into the forest, and do have fun.” She smiles and rests her paw on your shoulder, then begins to collect the fixins' from the table to head inside. Asgore follows her, and Alphys tells Undyne that she’ll be inside. Undyne grabs her wrist, followed by a “Aw, c’mon Al, it’ll be fun! Trust me, you’ll like it!”

“Well, alright… I guess it could be kind of fun!”

“That’s more like it!”

The only other party member undecided, it seems, is Sans. He shrugs and supplies, “heh. i’m more of a cheerleader than a team player, y’know. im not gonna join, but i’ll watch for a bit.” That settled, the lot of you head away from the house and stop on the border of the lawn into the forest. Rules are established (namely, no going past the old fence or dried creek on the other side of the woods), when suddenly the rabbit monster stomps their foot. “I wanna play hide and seek!”

The dinosaur child speaks up. “But Becca, we’re gonna play tag!” The now named rabbit, Becca, shakes her head in dissatisfaction. “We always play tag though, MK!”

“How about we combine them?” The kids look to you now. “Hide and seek tag? It’s simple— we start with one seeker, and everyone else hides, until the first seeker finds someone. The found person is it, then, and the original seeker gets to hide. You can’t get tagged more than three times. And no forming teams, it’s everyone for themselves.” Undyne is, surprisingly, the first one to speak up. “That sounds good to me!” Everyone is placated by the amicable solution, and Undyne volunteers to be the first seeker. “Nothing like a good old-fashioned manhunt, right, Papyrus?” Oh man, you can already tell she plans to bring her A-game to her role.

“THAT’S RIGHT! I SHALL PUT ALL MY CAMOFLAUGE SKILLS TO USE! THERE’S NOWHERE I CAN’T HIDE!”

She gives him a slap on the back and laughs. “Yeah, that’s what I’m talking about! Game on!” This signifies the start of the game, wherein the rest of you have a gracious 30-second head start. Powered by the thrill of the game, a wild grin on your face, you gallop off in a direction diagonal to her, jumping over rocks and undergrowth as you move. You’re at a comfortable running pace, when Undyne makes her starting call. “Better be good and hidden punks, ‘CAUSE HERE I COME!” Shit, you weren’t hidden yet! You pick up the pace, faster and faster, until the forest is a practical blur beside you, your feet hardly touching the ground as you bound through the woods. It’s a great feeling until you slow down and realize that you can’t see the house from where you are— you can’t see _anything_ you recognize; the forest having engulfed you quite a ways back. Shit, you can’t even hear the others from here. You shrug and figure that it was bound to happen, and that Undyne would probably find you anyway given her nature. You continue your trek, quietly as you can through the brush, until you come upon a small ledge that juts out above a lower part of the forest. You sit down on the edge, place your hands behind you, and vault off onto the ground below, which you guess to be no more than a five-foot drop downwards. Still, you tumble a bit upon impact and scrape your hands, then turn and scoot back into the bushes surrounding the bottom part. The scrapes don’t bleed but your hands did catch a bit of dirt and rock, nothing some spit and time can’t fix. You spit into one hand and carefully brush out most of the debris with a few winces, then finagle with the shrub until you feel properly hidden. You draw your knees into your chest, lock both hands together, and wait.

And wait.

And w _ait_.

You’re a terrible judge of time, so you can’t tell how much has passed. You’ve maintained the same position this entire time, though, and you finally allow your legs to stretch out, stricken with the type of soreness borne of crouching for far too long. It couldn’t hurt to lean against the dirt wall against you, and you move back to place your full weight against it.

Hardly a second passes before the wall suddenly crumbles and gives under your weight, the dirt clumps taking you along in their tumble downward. It’s a slight slope, but none less painful as you come to a stop on a smooth stone surface. Self-inspection reveals that your cheek below your eye leaks a black, viscous substance, your hands are even more scraped, and a pebble had wiggled its way up your nose at some point in the fall. You blot your cheek continuously with the brownie napkin from your pocket and hold it there, the precursor to standing up. The passage around you is wide enough to hold out your arms on both sides, and you look back.

The slope ended in a little dropoff that was just barely out of your grasp. You’d have to get a running start to even have a glimmer of getting back up there to crawl out; so instead, you turn back toward the passage and weigh your options. A creature of greater rationality might’ve, called for help, done anything but the option you chose, which was to press forward. A visceral feeling hits as you remember your phone, which sits on the table inside Toriel’s house… great. You inch further in, slowly, if only because you could see just fine, and with the caveat that you’d turn back at the first true sign of danger. Thus far, silence.

The passage is weathered on either side, little crevices carved by time arbitrarily dipping into the cold stone. The ground remains smooth underfoot, and you keep moving as the passage narrows and slopes gently downward, until you’re hunched in on yourself, then down on your knees as you crawl toward a hole no bigger than your nightstand at home. Once through, you take stock of your surroundings.

It’s a wide, tall chamber, and a hidden source emits a green glow of light to reveal a little pool of water filling almost the entirety of the cave. The water is clear but does not reveal a discernible bottom, leaving it to the imagination. You’re standing on a stone walkway which encompasses the entire pool, and in the center of the water there’s a short stone structure covered in swirling, carved patterns with a small dip in the top. The walls of the chamber are otherwise smooth around, save for a square, indented portion on the other side. You carefully make your way over to it and notice that the square area has writing in a language you can’t make out. Then, below it, a smaller portion, written in English. Some of the words have been weathered over, and it’s hard to make it all out:

Only forgotten….. enter

Sands….. banish….. pool

So too shall the…….. scourge……

Seek not the …….. in false light

A true…….. will reveal……

Talk about creepy and foreboding. You back slowly away from the wall and almost lose your footing into the water, making an ungraceful save before anything more than your foot can dive into the water. You feel as if panicking would alert some secret powers that be, so calmly as you can manage, you make for the exit, checking behind you every couple seconds in fear. Ah, fuck it, you think as you toss that façade out the window and break into a run that leads you back to the initial dropoff. That’s right, you need a running start! You begin picking up speed over the smooth ground in the short window you have for it, a bit faster, then the ledge is there and you _jump_ and heave…. yourself…. up onto the slope.

You’re scrambling now, practically barreling over yourself to reach the outside. You never thought you’d be so relieved to feel the scratchy branches of a bush, but then, you also never thought you’d find a mysterious tunnel and a prophetic table in a hidden cave.

It’s far darker out now than when you had initially hidden, and you’re a bit lost. You turn toward the ledge and skirt around it on the slopes that lead back up, powered by the logic that if you’d been facing out above the ledge earlier, facing back toward it would lead you to the house. It isn’t long before a distant cry punctuates the air with your name on the wings. There’s a second voice, and then another, all calling out for you. You latch onto those voices, and muster all the phlegm in your throat to shout,

“HELLO? HEY! I’M OUT HERE!”

A moment’s silence, and then more cries. The voices grow louder as you continue to walk, and soon enough there’s the light from Toriel’s back porch shining through the trees. You shout one last time before you’re snatched up by something big, and blue, and… oh, it’s Undyne.

“Morrigan! Fuck!” She cups one hand and shouts into the forest, “Call off the search! I found Morrigan!” Then her grip tightens, and she marches back toward the house, with you slung over her shoulder in a firefighter’s carry. The sliding glass door flies open, and you’re placed on the couch. No one speaks for a moment.

Then, all at once, a burst of speech from everyone in the room, asking if you’re okay, asking where you went, and you can’t make out any one sentence, until Asgore holds up a hand.

“Silence. SILENCE!” He booms, and the room drops to a dead quiet.

“Now then, one question at a time. Morrigan, how badly are you hurt? Can you show us?” You wish you weren’t so exhausted suddenly, because he’s asking you an important question, and it should be nothing to hold up your hands for them to see, but you’re shaky, and everything’s kind of blurry—

“—gan? Morrigan?” There’s a paw in front of your face vying for your attention, but it’s so hard to focus. “Whoa now, stay with us, you’re….” the rest of his words fade in and out, and you do too, eyes falling shut and muscles going lax as your brain shuts down from the exertion of it all.

***

Somewhere, earlier, two boss monsters are arguing over something pertaining to you.

Toriel enters the house and Asgore follows, shutting the door behind him. She moves into the kitchen to begin cleaning things up, and Asgore is left to sit on the couch and admire his surroundings, fiddling with his cell phone a bit. After she finishes cleaning, Toriel steps out into the living room and simply says, “Asgore, we need to talk.”

“Oh, what about?” He takes the bait all too easily.

“Was that raw meat on that human’s plate?” She doesn’t waste a second to begin lecturing him.

“I, well… yes, but—”

“Do not ‘but’ me, mister! You ought to know by now that it is very bad for them! Just what is your game?”

“Tori, I only did it because it was requested of me. Surely an adult like that would not choose to consume something truly dangerous to them.” His justification is weak, and he knows it. Why _had_ he served you raw meat? He’d been alive and on the surface long enough to know that even many monsters didn’t stomach under-cooked food, they just weren’t built to handle the rampant bacteria killed only by proper heat. What made you so special?

“My apologies, but I—"

The two monsters’ heads swivel when the back door opens and slides shut again, and the sound of sneakers on carpet makes its way toward the kitchen. “i don’t mean to interrupt a lover’s quarrel, but uh.” Sans says as he glances away for a moment, then straight into the eyes of his king and queen. “everyone playing outside searched the area. morrigan’s gone.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Toriel, the blame can't fall entirely on Asgore for the undercooked meat, right? What might she know?
> 
> More Papyrus involvement is on the way, considering how beside himself he was with worry when you were gone, which was for a good two hours or so. After this you're gonna have a hard time even looking at a pillow wrong without him saying something.


	7. Vampires Have Difficulty Apologizing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The tooth is revealed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A shorter chapter, no major warnings here.

_Hey! Over here! Yeah you, come along!_

You search for the source of sound as your eyes land on a little gray mouse in a brown cloak. The mouse beckons you to follow and wastes no time to take up a slow scamper to keep pace with you. You want to ask the mouse questions, but can’t find the words for it, so the two of you move in silence down a well-lit stone passage. The walls are lined with small candles topped by dim, little green flames.

_You cannot go with both eyes open. Close, traveler, and see the world behind your lids._

Have your eyes been open this whole time? You can’t remember but close them at the mouse’s advice. The black of your eyelids begins to brighten, perhaps from an outside light source, and a much different scene appears in front of you: it’s a wide chamber with a little pool of water and a tall rock in the middle. On all sides are short entryways to other passages, and cloaked creatures of varying sizes bustle in and out of the corridor. None of the creatures notice your presence, even the ones who look right at you. The quiet chatter and laughter that echoes through each chamber slowly fades, and then it’s just you and the mouse in the original chamber with no other passages in sight.

_Do you see?_

You ask, _what happened here?_

The little mouse sighs in reverence. _The catacombs before you once teemed with life, its inhabitants now long forgotten. Only the flow remains; but look closer._ He gestures to the water, which drains bit by bit, until the pool is empty. At the bottom of the pool, an unassuming little vase rests, its top slightly askew to reveal a bright yellow light shining from within under what appears to be sand. The light illuminates cracks in the stone near the base of the structure.

_What’s in that pot?_

_Once, long ago, a Guardian of the Night laid down to protect the magic of the wellspring. The Guardian created a balance to keep the wellspring eternally full. In its purest form, the sand in the amphora before you represents justice, the power to do right by others, and ancient righteousness. This, along with other virtues, created the Elixir of All, a substance that represents the life essence of good and evil, of all beings living and passed. This is not the only source of magic, but it is one of the few still standing to time. The virtues have long since been scattered and the pool draws near empty, a terrible occurrence that would slay the dark Guardian and offset the balance of magic in the universe._

_When I saw it, the pool was full of water. How could it be empty?_

_You perceived what was, what should be. Only a being with the power of darkness, afflicted by a horrible curse, can break the dawn and lay light to rest._

_That doesn’t make any sense though. I thought light was a good thing?_

_Things are not so simple as you make them to be, dreamer. Oftentimes we equate light to moral goodness and make enemies of the dark, but I suspect greater things are at hand. Think of yourself. Since your fated transformation, have you really become so evil?_

_Is this some sort of prophecy? I’m not the hero you think I am. I embody the image of death._

_Be that as it may, fate does not discriminate. You fell down here for a reason and your darkness gave you the ability to see the filled pool. Rest assured; it is not your visage in the carvings of an ancient vision. Simply a matter of cosmic chance._

You hear faint footsteps in the distance, and the mouse looks back, a bit hurried.

 _I cannot regale any more of this fate to you now; you must go. Go forth and seek the virtue of justice, one not unlike that which shifts within you. You are not alone in this journey._ The mouse waves to you and you’re transported outside, flying through the forest, then through a wall, and slam into a body—

whereupon you awake from your incredibly confusing dream.

It’s dark in here, wherever you are, but not alarmingly so. Comfy, certainly, and the curtains of the plush room you inhabit are pinned closed. You scoot to sit up a little bit, awash with nausea and shaky weakness. Beside the unfamiliar bed sits a little nightstand, upon which rests a glass of water and a tissue box, and your phone. You turn to try and drink the water and spill some on your shirt in the process. Getting out of bed would be a hassle, so you instead text your most recent contact, Papyrus.

> Me: hey hey hey its ol hickory ham mike. Do you know where I am? It’s a room with a big bed and some purple curtains.

He doesn’t even bother to text you back before you hear footsteps on the landing, down the hallway, and a gentle turn of the doorknob. Then, a whisper:

“Hello?” Well, as much of a whisper as Papyrus could manage. He shuts the door carefully behind him and the smile plastered to his face falls.

“Papyrus? What’s wrong?” You already know what’s wrong and it’s your fault, dammit, but no harm in asking.

“NYOO HOO HOO! I tried to wake you up, but it wouldn’t work, and so I sat here until Sans pried me from this chair”— he points to the one in the corner— “and made me go home so you could be in peace! Which makes sense, really, but still I could not help but worry for my wonderful friend, you!”

“Hey, I— Papyrus, it’s okay! Look, see, I’m all good!” You stick a thumbs up out toward him, but he isn’t too convinced.

“Please, Morrigan, don’t feel that you have to pretend for my sake. You’re very strong, I know, but I promise you can let your guard down in my presence.” Oh, he thinks you’re being guarded, when really, you’re just trying to apologize for worrying him. You can’t even bring yourself to consider the path of lying to him and you sigh. You’re tired. These past few weeks, now going on a month, you’ve been tired, exhausted from the hiding, the lies about your true nature. It isn’t fair to your friends that they’re so open to you, so willing to show their hearts, and you’ve hidden thus far behind a wall that lets only tiny glimpses of your true self through. You know it isn’t right to keep lying, as tough as the truth will be to reveal. In your dream, the mouse said something like ‘seek the virtue of justice’… how just is it really, to keep such a dark secret as this from someone you’re growing ever closer to?

These thoughts and others run through your head before you realize that you haven’t replied to Papyrus yet, but he understands that you’re contemplating something.

“Papyrus, I’m sorry. Not for what happened, I can’t apologize for injury, but for worrying you. All of you. I fucked up a simple children’s game, for one.”

He gives you a little smile and says, “Well, the game was pretty fun, actually! Until you disappeared.”

This isn’t the place for such a weighty conversation, not when you’re preparing to reveal something that might destroy a friendship. You check the time on your phone, and it says it’s about 8:00 P.M. “It’s eight, huh? So, I’ve only been out for a few hours?”

Papyrus glances away. “Well, no! You’ve actually been snoozing since last night.” Oh.

“Can we take a walk? How cold is it out?”

“It’s actually pretty warm! A walk sounds like a great idea if you’re up for it!” You smile and nod and the nausea hits again, but you try to power through it. “We won’t go far, I don’t think.”

The two of you gear up, and he hands you a jacket to borrow. Downstairs, a porch light and nothing more spills in through the window, offering a bit of light in an otherwise dark, empty living space. “The Queen and Frisk are already in bed, so don’t worry about being pestered! I had a feeling that you would wake up tonight and look how right I was!­” Before you exit the house, he holds up his arm to block you. “Wait here a moment, please.” He goes into the kitchen and pulls something out of a cabinet. “Toriel said to give this to you upon waking,” he explains as he hands you a little pouch. You shake it and hear the shifting of granules inside.

“What is it?”

“It’s a Packet of Stars! Open it up and try it for yourself.”

You rip open the top and pour a little in your mouth. The little pink granules begin to crackle and emit a faint glow in your mouth, like magic Pop Rocks. They have a distinct strawberry flavor as they melt on your tongue. Your earlier nausea subsides quite a bit, and you feel far more upright than before.

“I feel a lot better, thanks!”

“Most welcome! My tastes are a bit less sugary, but what matters most is that you enjoyed your stars! And thanked them!” He points toward the door. “Lead the way!”

The pair of you step outside into the cool April air. It isn’t too chilly thankfully, save for a small breeze blowing down the mountains. There isn’t a sidewalk to go on per se, so you elect to travel the length of the driveway and go from there.

As you walk, you think of how to start this conversation and opt for, “I suppose I owe you an explanation.”

“You are not indebted to me as you seem to believe, friend. Regardless, I will listen because I am a very excellent listener.” He looks to his hands, then at you. “Go on.”

“Well, when we played hide and seek tag yesterday, I went far out. Like, _very_ far out. I lost track of my surroundings but continued to seek a hiding spot anyway. So, I found this little ledge, right? And there’s a bush underneath that’s perfect to hide in, so I did just that— and then I leaned against the dirt under the ledge, and it crumbled beneath me into this little cave.” His eyesockets widen at the mention of a cave, but he doesn’t interrupt. “I didn’t have my phone and there was a dropoff in the cave too high for me to reach, so I went further in… and found a weird chamber.”

“Weird… how?” He’s puzzled by this. “Were there any monsters in there?”

“No, the cave was empty. There was a pool of water I think, and a rock in the center of it. And a carving on the wall that said something about being forgotten.” You tell him that the first part was written in a foreign language, and the bottom portion in English.

“Hmm… an empty cave with an esoteric carving and an underwater well?” He snaps his fingers and points triumphantly, expression lit up with excitement. “This looks like a puzzle for the great Papyrus and his good friend! We will be an unstoppable sleuthing team! There isn’t a puzzle we won’t be able to solve when I share my expert puzzle-solving skills with you!” You laugh and grin, then remember your true purpose for this walk. “Enthusiasm accounted for, but that isn’t what I brought you out here for. Tell me, Papyrus… do you trust me?”

“Yes, of course!” He doesn’t expand upon this statement.

“This is out of the blue, but what do you know about… ‘human’ monsters? For example, vampires?”

“I FEEL THAT THEY COULD EXIST! And that they are masters of counting and chocolate cereal!” It’s unexpectedly funny, as much of his sayings tend to be, and you laugh both out of amusement and nervousness. Get to the point already!

“Here’s a fun fact. Did you know that… you’re friends with a vampire?”

“REALLY? WHO IS IT? WHAT IS THEIR NAME?” Poor, sweet Papyrus. He’s elated at the idea of discovering a mystery friend.

Fuck, this is difficult. “…their name is Morrigan.” There it is, the truth, plain and simple, laid out on the table for him to gander at. It’ll feel so much better once he understands, even if he turns you away. You realize a feeling of wrongness has disintegrated from your heart, that lying to all your friends besides Hannah weighed a lot, even if it was lies by omission. You wouldn’t blame them for cutting off contact with you, even if it hurts— and you have to hope that he actually does trust you, or did before you revealed yourself, anyway. You’re so certain that the results of your action will reflect poorly that you take a step away from him and wait.

“WHAT? So, I have two friends named Morrigan?”

“I— what? No, Papyrus, as far as I know, I’m your only friend with that name. Catch my drift?” You stumble over an attempt at nonchalance and your voice rasps. You then bare your fangs for him, just to prove your point.

He raises a gloved hand to his chin to consider your words and show of teeth. You can practically chart the moment it clicks.

“Oh. OH!” He whips toward you and grabs your shoulders as he looms over you. This is it, final contact before he forbids your continued friendship because who would be friends with a creature, a secretive _liar_ like _you_ —

“Morrigan. Look at me.” You angle your gaze toward him and meet halfway. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” Oh, this is unexpected. You’d learned he was an understanding guy, but wasn’t even this a bit much?

“Papyrus, if you were a monster like me, wouldn’t you hide your true nature, even to the people closest to you?” He tilts his head a little bit.

“A monster like you? But I’m already a monster like me! What’s so wrong with being a monster?”

Shit, you didn’t mean it like that! “Fuck, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it that way. There’s nothing wrong with being a monster… but you and I aren’t one in the same. I’m a terrible creature of the night and you, you’re… one of my best friends, and I lied to you all this time.” You sigh and run a hand through your hair. “Even if you can’t forgive me, I just wanted you to know.”

“Morrigan.”

“Yes?”

“The friend I know and the friend you describe are two different people. The Morrigan I know is a patient and kind human, er, vampire, one that sees the good in others and does right by them. Do you really believe that I would foolishly turn away such a great friend so easily? Think of yourself. You have the strength, the power to hurt, and yet you choose every time the option of goodness.” He looks out into the night and smiles. “Besides, my friends come in all shapes and types. I am many things, but a judge of other’s lifestyles is not among them.”

You’re pretty sure you’re about to cry. “I… was so certain that you’d abandon this friendship, and I can’t lie and say it wouldn’t hurt if you did. We haven’t been friends for long, but there’s a reason friends come so easily to you, Papyrus. Thank you for hearing me out.” You throw up your arms for a hug, unsure but hopeful he’ll reciprocate, and he does. It’s a bony hug and you have to kind of fold in half backwards to make it work, but it’s a hug all the same.

“Are you gonna… y’know. Tell the others?”

“That is on you to decide! But I believe you can do it— and I’ll help in any way that I can!”

“That’s all I can ask for in the end.” The brunt of your heart-to-heart (heart-to-empty chest cavity?) is over, and the two of you turn back toward the house to tuck in for the night.

“THERE IS ONE THING, THOUGH.”

“What is it?”

“About the cave you found. We must look into that, and I know just the person to help us!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We'll find out which friend he wants to enlist next chapter, but until then, I'm sure it's clear who it might be.  
> What's with all this jazz about justice, anyway?
> 
> Why would Papyrus have to worry about vampirism anyway? He doesn't have blood, after all, just marrow and magic. He can make judgements of character for himself, but as for being a judge... that's a different story.   
> And besides, he must not be worried if he reciprocated your hug that's a friendly hug and totally nothing more


	8. Vampires Have Nightmares Too

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You go to Alphys's house to discuss the cave (not the one from Plato's allegory)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (%) For a description of blood and gore.

It’s a Wednesday, and after your last class ends at 3:45, you’ve got no plans for the rest of the night. Well, except one.

Papyrus and Alphys— one of whom you’re making tracks to visit— decided today would be the best day for a conversation of any length. Papyrus has to work today a bit later than your last class, but he promised to swing by later or catch up on what you learn at some point. So here you are, in driveway, revving up your motorcycle with a sense of nervousness as to how speaking with Alphys will go; you hadn’t spoken to her any more after Toriel’s cookout, and you pray that things will not be awkward given the amount of personal information you might have to divulge to her. On top of that is the fact that you’re going to her house rather than an unfamiliar office— monsters seem to have a knack for conducting business primarily out of the home. Papyrus relayed to you the fact that at her house, there would be no security cameras to pick up on the conversation, which led you to wonder about the upcoming discussion at hand. Her home isn’t too far a drive from your neighborhood though, and in no time, you’re parked in front of an unassuming dark green little home with a metal exterior door. A house is a house, even if it’s a little bit beat up.

You ring the doorbell once and it hums an electronic little ditty. “I-I’ll be right there!” You hear a shout from somewhere indoors as you wait. The front door peels back a bit and you glimpse a pair of bespectacled eyes peeping out at you. “Hi, Morrigan! Come in— did you uh, find the place okay?”

“Hi Alphys. Yeah, thanks to Papyrus and my maps app, I got here just fine. Except for that damn pothole in the middle of the road— could’ve shown up here without my head.” She looks over at you, aghast. “Kidding! But that must suck to drive over, huh?”

“No kidding… the first time Undyne and I came to look at this place, we bashed our heads on the ceiling of her Jeep as she drove over it. Hopefully, they can get someone out to fix it soon, though.” The two of you move out of the entryway in a polite back-and-forth conversation as you follow her to some unknown room. It’s down one hall and off to the side, and the room before you looks like most home offices, save for the addition of some very expensive-looking equipment. The white desk in one corner has two monitors and a little screen off to one side and a keyboard at least twice the size of normal ones; tacked to the walls are various blueprints and a big Vocaloid poster. “Nice setup! But can it run Crysis?” You smile, then realize maybe she wouldn’t understand your dated reference, and remedy your statement: “Uh, sorry if you don’t know what that is.”

She turns back to you, slowly, as a big grin spreads across her face. “Oh my god, that’s… it’s such an old joke, we even knew what that was in the Underground! And, as a matter of fact, it could if I wanted it to. But uh, I usually use it more for work and… o-other things.” She wiggles her mouse frantically on its pad to wake up the computer, and it springs to life with a variety of open windows on each monitor. “So, Papyrus said something about a cave?”

“Yeah, I fell into a cave when we were playing hide and seek the other day at Toriel’s.”

“You didn’t see any monsters in there, did you?” None besides yourself, you think. It seems universal for monsters to worry about other monsters, ones that they may not even know, which you find somewhat endearing.

“No, it was just me.” You launch into detail about your hiding, the fall, the chamber and pool and the stone scripture, careful to skirt around mentions of your condition and anything that might seem unusual. You pretend that it was hard to see in the tunnel, so you had to feel around for everything, and neglect to mention the short dropoff inside the cave. Meanwhile, Alphys pulls up a new program on her computer titled “GeoMaster Survey System v.1.2.4.0” and opens a new file. “Do you know anything about geology?”

“A little bit, but not much— nothing beyond what an introductory college course would teach, if that says anything.”

“That’s alright! You don’t really need a strong foundation of knowledge, just a... well, mostly a willingness to help. This program helps chart cave surveys, which are basically a detailed map of the area underground.” She pulls up a computer-generated example cave that’s probably used to test the confines of the program. “Cave surveys are usually just printed in 2D, but the program will let us make a 3D map to show the chamber and any other potential areas in the cave. They can take a long time to conduct in full since they’re meant to gather loads of data about the physical structures of caves, but we’ll just get the bare minimum of info. The survey will function the same, it’ll just be far m-more crude. Does that make sense?”

“So, we’re going back to the cave to take measurements?”

“Exactly! Since you don’t know how to take the measurements, I assume, I’ll have to come with you to gather data. Oh, but maybe it would be a good idea to see if anyone else wants to tag along?” She raises a claw to her chin and taps in thought. “Oh! Maybe Undyne would want to go with, especially if any boulders needed moving.”

“Good idea! I’ll ask Papyrus and see if he wants to come, although I can’t imagine that he’ll say no. Question, though— where are we gonna get this equipment? Cave surveying isn’t exactly the latest trend.”

“Don’t worry about that. When the barrier first broke, part of my job became researching speleogenesis, er, the generation of the cave systems in the Underground to give humans a better idea of what’s down there. Someone else has taken over that project since then, but every now and then I still help out in bits and pieces, so the project managers grant me permission to borrow surveying equipment when I need it.” Although they’re far from alike, you’re beginning to see why Undyne likes Alphys so much— she’s passionate about a very niche subject but explains it in such a way that you can’t help but be fascinated. You glance down at your phone after a little buzz notifies you of a text message. It’s from Papyrus.

Pics That Make You G…: HELLO! I AM EN ROUTE TO ALPHYS’S HOUSE AS WE SPEAK! Or as I speak, even though no one is really speaking at all! Unless your phone reads out messages like Frisk’s!”

Me: Cool beans, Alphys just finished explaining her idea to me. I’ll tell you more when you get here

With that, you shove your phone in your back pocket. It seems that the serious discussion is over, because now the two of you are just kind of… standing around, until you hear a door elsewhere in the house open and slam shut. “I guess Papyrus is here.”

“Actually, I think that was Undyne coming out from the shower… say, uh! Do you want to go to the living room, and I’ll fish out something! For dinner!” She scurries out the door and down the hall, greeted by the sight of Papyrus and Undyne on the sofa, the two watching something with rapt gazes locked onto a cell phone screen. You hunker down on a beanbag nearby and pick up the remnants of a conversation.

“Damn, did the lady really fly through the windshield?”

“YES, through the windshield of her vehicle and into the back of another car ahead. The first ever case of intra-vehicular parkour!” They turn toward you and offer respective hello’s to kick off a new conversation that includes you. Undyne starts off with, “So, Morrigan… any better? You didn’t get lost in any other places since Sunday, did’ja?” Ah, so she wants an explanation, which you promise will come over dinner. She rolls her good eye but is placated for the moment.

Alphys pokes her head in briefly. “H-hey everyone, dinner should be done pretty soon, but don’t get up because we can uh, just eat it right here in the living room.” She then goes back to making something and you’re filled with a sense of dread. For the first time in what seemed like ages, you would have to eat something besides raw meat or blood alone; and that part of you from ages ago, that’d been kicking under the sheets all this time ever since you basically had to nix your entire diet, reared its head. You feel so stupid, too, because it isn’t as if you can change much about your appearance anyway. Constantly tired, dizzy, and a number of other factors— these were symptoms you’d felt for so long, you might as well consider them personality traits by this point. Even after your descent to vampirism, that desire for control still lingers. It’s not even about your appearance or your weight anymore and you know this; now, your disordered eating is more of a coping mechanism which never fails to draw you back in after even minor setbacks in life, doesn’t fail to start fighting against any happiness or contention you feel with your current place in life. You’ve come to believe, in the past few weeks, that maybe you were fated to have such shitty self-care habits by becoming a horror creature with a narrowed diet. You’d wanted so badly that other night to tell Papyrus more, to open up about your history of awful dieting habits, but the miniscule part of you still holding on thrives in secrecy.

You feel your eyes start to water a bit and look up at the ceiling, desperate to stop the onset of waterworks sure to come if you’re not careful. You’re so certain your friends won’t notice that you miss the shared glance between the nearby monsters, the silent question of ‘alright, how should we breach this topic, because I sure as hell aren’t prepared for tears over dinner’, which was only to say that one of them wasn’t sure she could comfort you if you so asked. No one has to say anything now, because Alphys chooses then to pop back in and announce the finished product. “It’s on the counter and I set some bowls out, since I didn’t know how much anyone wanted, so help yourselves.” Undyne is the first to stand, pass her (and kiss her forehead on the way) into the kitchen to exclaim, “It looks so good! But… what is it?”

“It’s chicken alfredo… they started putting it out at the store, so I figured maybe we’d try it sometime this week and tonight’s the night.” Undyne takes the fork out of the big tray with a small heap on the end and tries it. “Hey, this isn’t half bad! You always know how to come through, Al!” She goes to jam the fork back in, but Alphys puts out her arms to stop her. “Wait, wait! You can’t put the fork back in! Cross contamination!” is all she says with an indignant huff. Then she processes the compliment and adds, “Thanks, I— I wanted to try something new, branch out like you suggested.” You can only laugh as you imagine Undyne trying to inspire Alphys to cook new foods and are sure it’s quite an episode, filled with lots of excited yelling. You wait until near last (Alphys insisted that you get some before her), and you take as little as you feel you can without raising suspicion. You don’t want to take any, truthfully, but it would be wrong not to, not to mention incredibly rude. Papyrus takes a bite of his and scowls. “HEY! THERE’S NOT EVEN ANY BEANS IN THIS! WHAT THE HECK!” You’re puzzled until you remember having texted him ‘cool beans’ earlier. “Papyrus, that’s… it’s just a phrase! It means that you agree with a plan, kind of.”

The four of you hunker down in the living room and turn on the TV, which is open for suggestions. A cooking show, an anime, and a Western film are the proposals— the last one seems surprising coming from Undyne, but then she explains that she only likes that one for its action and suspense. “What about you, Morrigan?” You have the option to say most anything, but you want them to watch something they’ve never seen before— the Shrek movies are off the table, as is anything that lives in a pineapple under the sea. You’re in the mood for something campy, so you say, “How about Jimmy Neutron?”

“Jimmy who-now?” There it is! A show that all three of them have yet to see.

“It’s… well, you’ll just have to see it for yourself.” Intrigued, Alphys hands you the remote and you begin your search for your favorite episode, the movie where they compete in a space gameshow guided by the clutches of Tim Allen. Maybe going chronologically would be a better idea, but fuck it, if they like it enough now, they’ll watch more later. You hit play and let the others sink into their dinners, careful to take a bite now and then; otherwise, you mostly just move it around in the bowl and smash it up a little bit to give the illusion of lowered volume, an ages-old trick that you wanted to kick yourself for giving in to. There’s some talking and questions, but for the most part, the four of you watch in silence until the movie finishes, and someone’s already gone to the queue to line up a few more episodes.

“Hey, uh, Alphys, should we tell them about the cave thing?”

“What? Oh- oh yeah!” She grabs the remote and pauses the show, then turns to Papyrus and Undyne. “So, Morrigan and I were talking earlier, and we plan to do a cave survey on the cave that’s evidently in Toriel’s backyard,” she starts, as Undyne interrupts her. “HEY, WAIT A MINUTE! You never told me about what happened that day, so ‘fess up!”

“Ok so, I was running to go and hide during the game, right? And I was so focused on getting away to hide that I kind of went past the boundaries, but then I was lost, so I hid beneath this ledge with a cave, only I didn’t know there was a cave there, and now we’re setting up to go explore an underground chamber with a pool in the middle and some writing I can’t read?” Your exposition is made all the tougher by the fact that you have to omit some parts, which you feel guilty for doing. Undyne blinks and remains silent for a moment in thought.

“So, there’s a cave nearby that we didn’t know about… let’s go check it out!” She stands up and turns to pick up Alphys, who squeaks in surprise. “Why bother waiting?! LET’S GO RIGHT NOW!” Papyrus also stands, elated by the proposition of doing the spelunking. There’s just one problem.

“Undyne, it’s almost 10 o’clock! We can’t go out right now!” Shit, was it really getting so late? You presume you’ll have to make tracks for home soon enough, but what’s important now is stopping Undyne. “Look, maybe we should wait until the four of us have the time to do it when it’s daylight out?”

“One of these days you’re going to thank me for wanting to spring into action.” That’s all she says, with a sigh, as she sets Alphys down and sits back down on the sofa.

“If it makes you feel any better, I promise it’s worth the wait. When are you guys free, anyway?” The resounding answer is that this Sunday would be the best day to do it, but you actually want to get some studying and homework done before your upcoming exam, so you settle for the following Tuesday in the early afternoon.

***

 _And here he was, making you out to be something of a wonder. You’re just a kid after all, huh? Eh, I’ll work with what I can get._ A voice, somewhere in your periphery, touches on your ears. Then, without warning, you’re falling, and below you the ground narrows bit by bit, into a funnel, and you pass through that hole so quickly that the sudden image of a lit passage lined with little candles makes you lurch forward. You gather your bearings and search for the source of the voice, still just beyond your sight.

_If you really insist on speaking with a tangible form… so be it._

Another cloaked monster appears in front of you, risen from the dark ground, and this time there’s no discernible face behind the hood. The voice is deep, old, but not malicious.

_Is this better, traveler? Maybe now you’ll understand and listen._

_Listen to what? To whom?_

The candles in the tunnel flare up in a great, blinding roar, then all at once sputter out and the two of you are drenched in utter darkness. Even you, with your enhanced vision, can’t make out anything beyond the immediate circle of space between you and the figure.

_These caves stretch far beyond the mere chamber you discovered before. Long ago, they were alight with the essence of the living, those who kept arcane secrets far below the Earth. These secrets will be just as well-guarded now as they have been for millennia. Do you get what I’m saying, traveler? This old cave will try to trick you, turn you back, grab you and trap you underneath. We have been observing. You are a being of the dark, but even the darkest spaces have some light in them. Understand?_

_Why are you telling me this?_

_In the grand scheme of things, you’re important because you fell into this ancient hole. You read the prophecy in the stone. Even if things are not writ in stone, you fell here for a reason, and now it falls to you to recover those virtues._

_Virtues? I’ve heard that before. What are they?_

_Think about it. What drives your human race, monsters from beneath the world, everything in-between? These are things you must feel to know. Despite my earlier misgivings, we have hope in your ability to do what is set forth before you. Remember that you must oftentimes rely on the wisdom of others to unlock wisdom within yourself. Have patience._

_What happens if I don’t do it?_

_Must you really know?_ (%) The creature gestures before itself and a scene begins to play out in front of you: it’s you, alone in the cave, but something’s terribly wrong. Your arms are covered in blood and an unknown shiny gray substance. You take forceful steps into the pool in the middle of the chamber, knee-deep in increasingly bloodied waters, body turned away from the version of you watching this unfold. You’re suddenly bathed in a yellow light source from somewhere beyond your body, but from this angle, the real you can’t make out what that source is. The light dies out as quickly as it appeared, and the other you whips around and looks you straight in the eyes. Blood pours from the mouth of the one in the pool, and viscera begins to drop out of your other self’s mouth as they open their mouth more and more. Then they frown, a horribly, impossibly deep frown, and begin staggering toward you. They pick up speed, faster and faster, until the cloaked figure waves a sleeve, and the alternate version vanishes. (%)

_That is what will happen. A result most undesired, no? I suspect so._

The cloaked figure fades from view and you’re once again catapulted from your surroundings and back into a physical form, which causes you to jolt awake. You lie there, eyes peeled open, and become overwhelmed with the need to tell someone about your dream. Hannah? Maybe, but she didn’t particularly enjoy being woken from a sound sleep, especially not the day before her own big tests. Your only other option is Papyrus.

It’s five in the morning, and the pair of you had left Alphys’s not so early, but you resolve to text him now before you forget the dream.

> Me: hey if bees had cars do you think they’d be called
> 
> Me: beehicles

Great start. Not too serious, but enough to grab his attention.

> Pics That Make You G…: IT IS FAR TOO EARLY FOR THESE SHENANIGANS. STILL, I am obligated to agree that yes, maybe that’s what bees would call their tiny bee cars.
> 
> Pics That Make You G…: Say, why are you awake?
> 
> Me: I had a dream again
> 
> Me: About the cave
> 
> Pics That Make You G…: Was it an enjoyable one?
> 
> Me: Nah, it was fuckin terrifying. I was in the cave and this cloaked figure that I couldn’t see was telling me about being virtuous and then showed me something awful
> 
> Pics That Make You G…: A cloaked figure? That must’ve been the Riverperson!
> 
> Me: The Riverperson?
> 
> Pics That Make You G…: Yes, the one who ran a boat back and forth between areas of the Underground! If that’s the case, there’s no need to worry!
> 
> You get the distinct feeling that the figure from your dream was in fact not the Riverperson to whom Papyrus alludes. Still, you afford him the benefit of the doubt.
> 
> Me: Maybe. But they showed me like, a scene of myself? As in it played out like a movie before me. And I stood there in the chamber of the pool, and there was blood. I’ll spare you the gory details if you’d like.
> 
> Pics That Make You G…: No need! Please, if it helps to share your dream in full, then do so. I don’t have a weak stomach, rest assured! I don’t even have a stomach!
> 
> You continue to text him and decide it’s best to be honest, so you relay to him all the details of the blood coming from your mouth and what you can remember of the alternate version’s appearance in the dream.
> 
> Me: So basically, they told me that if I don’t do this then something bad would happen like that
> 
> Pics That Make You G…: HMM.
> 
> Pics That Make You G…: I am sorry to hear about your terrible dream, but I cannot even begin to imagine a friend as great as you doing something terrible, so there must be another reason for how you looked!
> 
> Me: I hope so
> 
> Pics That Make You G…: You don’t sound very convinced! I, Papyrus, as your very good friend, will make sure that nothing bad happens to you! After all, that’s what friends are for, having each other’s backs! Please don’t take my spine though, I need it.
> 
> Me: Alright, that’s fair. I’ll try to have more hope that things will go well for our cave trip
> 
> Pics That Make You G…: THAT’S THE SPIRIT! Also, do you have any plans for today?
> 
> Me: I mean, I have class until 2 P.M., but otherwise I’m free until later tonight. I want to get some homework and stuff done.
> 
> Pics That Make You G…: I see. Well, would you like to accompany Frisk, Undyne, and myself somewhere after that?
> 
> Me: Sure! Where to?
> 
> Pics That Make You G…: To the Laser Tag Emporium!
> 
> Me: Hell yeah! I’ll be there, what time did you want to go?
> 
> Pics That Make You G…: We can meet you there at 3:30! I must warn you though, I am an expert at tagging the lasers!
> 
> Me: Uh…Papyrus, have you ever played laser tag?
> 
> Pics That Make You G…: NO! BUT THAT’S WHERE MY AGILITY AND FINESSE COME INTO PLAY!
> 
> Me: I’m gonna make you eat those words later!
> 
> Pics That Make You G…: ON THE CONTRARY, IT IS YOU WHO SHALL BE DOING THE MAJORITY OF THE SPEECH-FLAVORED DINING! SEE YOU THEN!

About an hour and many exciting texts later, you manage to fall back asleep until your first class.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Papyrus's name in your phone is "Pics That Make You Go NYEH", but it doesn't all fit so that's why it's shortened.  
> What was the deal with the whole bloody sequence? And first justice, what's this about patience now? Time to hit the books to find out! After you have fun playing laser tag, of course.


	9. Chapter 9: Vampires Can Wield Laser Guns

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You do indeed go play laser tag with your friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The bloody part is at the very beginning, so it'd be harder to avoid, but I still put in those symbols as always so anyone could avoid the brunt of it, hypothetically. Lots of eating disorder talk here but no mention of the more explicit behaviors commonly engaged in.
> 
> Oh, and more story is to come, rest assured. This current break from school and trying to run around with a few other things though means that from hereon out, chapters will likely be posted in a more separated frequency (weekly instead of like, daily.)
> 
> Frisk's 'speech' is marked off in brackets, [like so.]

There’s an hour window left before your meetup with friends and you’re drenched in blood. From the neck down, splatters of red substance stream and drip quietly from your body, the hardwood floor of the kitchen soaked in a thick, viscous pool of sludge.

(%) What had begun as an innocent grab for some raw meat from the fridge, packaged from a local grocery store, ended in a crimson mess of chunks and slurry. Your idea, inspired by a vampiric hunger, to put the raw meat in the blender and make a deathly smoothie would’ve worked far better if you had only remembered to put the lid on the blender. Instead, in your haste and a touch of forgetfulness, the lid sat beside the blender on the counter where it now mocked your stupidity. On days like these, you’re thankful that Hannah is off completing training until a bit later in the evening, because you know that she would be disgusted to know that the contents of your ‘smoothie’ had ever graced the walls of her expensive blender. It wouldn’t matter how hard you scrubbed with disinfectant and water then.

You’re equally thankful that you can move so quickly to clean due to enhanced speed, and that you can recall the details of blood cleanup from a necropsy lab held a few weeks ago in one of your wildlife classes. You consider briefly just getting down on the floor and drinking up the spilled blood yourself, but the impulse passes and you opt for a far more sanitary method. Shortly after the shock of the mess, the brunt of it is cleaned and your kitchen returns to a semi-normal, cleaner state. The problem at hand now is getting the remaining fluid out of your clothes and hair, the latter of which will be far easier than the former. Dripping socks in hand, you trudge up the stairs to the bathroom and bundle your stained clothing in the sink as you pull the drain stopper and fill the basin with freezing water. Not perfect, but it would certainly do for the moment. You check your phone and see that a good fifteen minutes have already passed— so you waste no more time to grab the hydrogen peroxide from under the sink, hop in the shower, and gently work the peroxide over the stained areas before ferociously working up a soapy lather with your shower gel. After a few minutes of scrubbing and parting your hair to prevent the blood from drying, the water runs mostly clear and you step out of the volcanic stream. You reach down to gather soggy bits of viscera too big to squeeze down the drain and toss them in the trash in hopes that some well-applied air freshener would mask any lingering smell. (%)

A bit of drying off, and you check your phone. There isn’t enough time now to properly dry your hair, so you settle for a thorough combing and make to throw on something suitable. A dark blue T-shirt, black jeans, and dark socks topped off by an olive-green pullover and a black beanie for your wet hair— nothing too robust. You also slip on your stone pendant and look to your mirror for judgement; as usual, there’s little to offer, doubly so due to your near-transparent reflection. It would be a blessing if you weren’t still so picky about your appearance to the world.

 _Bzzt._ It’s a text from Papyrus that lets you know that he and some unnamed others are en route to the laser tag place, perhaps a polite reminder that you should be heading out too. Tennis shoes on, you trot down the stairs back into the kitchen, grab a large and opaque pitcher, and tip its spout into your mouth to drink the dark red liquid within. Better to do this now than to carry around an unmarked juice box and risk losing or spilling it. 25 minutes to go and you’re out the door. It won’t take a terribly long time to get there, traffic willing, but it never hurts to be early to a first date.

First date? Where the hell did _that_ come from? It’s not a date, it’s a hangout with your good friends, two very different things. You think about this distinction more on the drive over, your thoughts turning to each of your friends. Acquaintances, really, at least for now, but you get the feeling that maybe you’ll be allowed exclusive access to their tight-knit group; laser tag and spelunking, two activities sure to bring friends closer. At least, that’s your hope. It isn’t that you didn’t have friends, it’s that the few people you did talk to were students caught up in their own little bubbles, eager to make a mark on the world. Toriel, Undyne and Alphys, and even Frisk had grown on you these past few weeks, even if your contact with them was only now beginning to really pick up. You have little to do with Sans, so you peg him as ‘just alright’ on the friendship spectrum. Not too close, but not a total stranger.

That might change if you get closer to Papyrus. Is that what you want, though? The days at work you’ve spent together are appreciated, even if the two of you most often work on separate tasks. Your relationship with him was never formal to begin with if the frequent texting and recreational hangouts weren’t enough of an indication. He already knows one of your big secrets, and when you told him, he hadn’t been anything but supportive, encouraging even. Papyrus is confident in himself and that sureness shows in everything he does, how he carries himself, and especially in his efforts to help others. Yes, he’s loud, and he fucks up at work just about as much as anyone could hope, but you can’t ask for perfection from anyone, let alone a near best friend. It also doesn’t hurt that he exudes a radiant smile, made all the more charming by the fact that it tends to reach his eye sockets (somehow). Would he want anything more than friendship if you even considered the dating route? Questions of a similar caliber burn in the back of your mind as you look for expected and familiar faces in your destination’s parking lot. You see no one you recognize and nestle your bike in-between two smaller cars in the middle of the lot.

Up the curb and through the tinted-glass front doors, you enter a foyer that contains a single ATM and an unidentified smell. It’s not a bad smell, just… a smell. You walk through a second set of doors into a large open hub space, with various signs pointing to restrooms and a manager’s office. Off to one side, your friends are huddled around a set of black pleather chairs that line the walls in increments, along with fake plants and warm wall lights.

You smile and head over to Papyrus, Undyne, Alphys, and Frisk, who glance up from their phones and conversations to greet you.

“GLAD YOU COULD MAKE IT! AND FASHIONABLY LATE, TOO!”

“Hey now, it isn’t 3:30 yet! I’m still early!” Then again, Papyrus was like a music teacher when it came to punctuality— who knows how long he could’ve been sitting here if it was just him without the others? You suspect a bit longer than is reasonable, given his excitement for a new activity.

You shrug your shoulders in a kind of ‘what-can-you-do’ motion and ask, “Do we wanna start heading that way?” You jerk your thumb in the rough direction of the portion of the building with laser tag. This entire building is an entertainment center, complete with an arcade, bowling alley, and a 50’s-style diner tucked somewhere further in. A load off for tired parents and a major profit for its proprietors, this place has only been around for the past five years or so, meaning that everything is fairly up to date.

“Yeah! Lead the way!” Undyne throws out, and you’re unsure if she means you until Frisk hops out of the chair and begins walking down the hall. Papyrus is busy in conversation with Undyne, so you pace alongside Frisk and turn to them. “It’s been a little bit, how are you?” Ever since learning that they’re mute, you’d made futile attempts at putting more sign language under your belt. They look up and smile— hands at the ready to sign a reply— and suddenly stop, put up a finger in a ‘wait’ gesture, and pull out their cell phone. They press down a button on the side a few times and rapidly type something on the screen with both thumbs, then give a final tap. They hold up the phone for you to hear something:

“Hello, Morrigan. I’m great, thank you.”

Suddenly it clicks. A text-to-speech app! The sentence that plays comes out clear, with the nuances of the spoken word, almost as if it wasn’t produced by a little circuit inside a handheld robot. That, and the voice that comes out isn’t at all what you would pair with a child of Frisk’s age. It’s a deep, raspy man’s voice that sounds so, _so_ familiar. Frisk catches the confused look on your face and raises their eyebrows twice, then points to their shirt, a dark purple Adventure Time tee.

“Your shirt? Yeah, it’s cool! I like Adventure Time too, but I haven’t finished it yet.” They shake their head and point to the shirt once more, this time tapping on the yellow dog to one side. “Jake? What about him?” Say, Jake has a raspy kind of voice, doesn’t he? It suddenly clicks.

“Oh my god. Your voice, er, the phone's voice, that sounds just like him!/p>

More typing, then a response. [Yep! Alphys hooked me up good, huh?] The phone didn’t even stumble over the name, nor had it over yours’, enforcing just how well of a job she’d done. You whip around to look at her, and she gives a little wave. “Holy shit, that’s amazing!” It’s also jarringly hilarious, hearing speech like that give voice to a child.

[Thanks. She said, ‘give me a name’ and I guess there’s a voicebank for this character. Or it was easy to make, maybe. I might change it up soon though, who knows?] Whether it is an exact replica or a draw from raw data she gathered, you'd likely never know. You’re instilled with vicarious pride for Alphys’s accomplishment, and relief that you would not have to really struggle with sign language much more. Still, you resolve to continue learning what you can, in case you need to communicate with Frisk, and they don’t have their phone on hand. “I still want to learn some more sign language though, you know, for future reference.” They nod and sign something to you, a quick gesture where they hook their fingers toward each other and turn their hands.

“What does that mean?” You can’t even begin to hazard a guess, but presume it isn’t something pejorative.

[It means ‘friend’.] You’re sure you’d blush if you could from the sweet sentiment. “Y’know, you’re an alright kid, Frisk.” You ask them to repeat the movement, but they point to a counter ahead. Oh, that was quick. “Alright, maybe afterward?” They nod, and your group steps to the counter in various staggered distances. There’s no wait on a weekday afternoon like this. The counter is empty, but a little golden bell sits on top ready for the dinging. “Hello?” You start, and there’s no answer. “Guess we gotta ring the bell.” You tap it gently and it emits a pleasant ‘tink’ sound. Still no one.

“Well, no one’s gonna hear it if you ring it like _that_! Let me do it!” Undyne moves up and, with a flat palm, slaps the bell so hard its little ring hardly registers by comparison. She lifts her hand to reveal a smashed, vaguely bell-shaped object, and turns to you with a grimace. “Whoops!”

“Undyne!” You hiss out her name in a loud whisper.

“What? Oh c’mon, the bell was on its last legs!” A click sounds out ahead of you, and a door behind the counter labeled ‘employees only’ begins to swing open. You reach over across her arms and smack the bell off the counter, where it rolls over the carpeted floor quietly until it comes to rest underneath the nearby vending machine, hidden save for the little bit of shiny metal poking out from under the front. You hope the attendant isn’t a giant eyeball or an ear or something equally as attentive. No, it’s just a tired orange cat monster who looks like they’d rather be anywhere else right now. He doesn’t bother with formalities, just says, “Hi, what can I do for ya?” Simple enough. He blinks and then takes a better look at your little menagerie, and something of a grin lights up his face. “Little buddy! How’s the only customer I can stand?”

[BP! How’s the actor thing going?] BP… British Petroleum? No, that can’t be right. You’d have to ask Frisk later more on this character with whom they had a history.

“Great,” he gestures to his surroundings, “as you can tell. Seriously though, this is just my side gig to pay for school what loans won’t cover. A year in and I can already tell I’ll make it big someday!” He flashes a genuine smile at that, then continues. “I won’t hold you up with daydreams of my future successes though, little buddy. What’ll it be, 4 adults and a kid?” Frisk nods and pulls out a wad of cash and forks it over, to which BP rips five blue tickets off a roll and trades them off. “I’d give you a discount, but you know how it is.” He points up and you spot a camera overhead, one which presumedly captures the computer screen and the goings-on inside the register. Frisk nods in understanding.

“Alright, follow me guys.” He swings a little side door open and steps out from behind the counter, then heads toward the wall behind him. There’s a black door with a thin window strip slightly off-center, and inside you can see some neon lights blinking in random intervals. On one side of the door, there’s a big rules board with red text, to enforce necessity of following them. “Before we go in, I have to explain this to you.” He puts a hand to one side of his mouth and whispers, “I’m sorry.” Then, in the most rehearsed and mechanical voices you’ve ever heard, he begins a little spiel:

“Welcome to ‘Putzy’s Entertainment Palace: Mega Laser Tag Emporium’, where fun reaches the stars and beyond. This is only the beginning of a new fun adventure for you and friends. Before you start, there are rules which everyone must follow to ensure maximum fun and safety. Please follow along as I read them from the rule board in front of you.” He clenches his fist and teeth a little, a pose fitting of the hatred you’re certain he feels for having to churn out such a stupid speech, especially to people he knows personally. The five of you humor him and turn your gazes to the board on the wall:

> PUTZY’S MEGA LASER TAG EMPORIUM FUN-TASTIC RULES:
> 
> All patrons MUST follow the rules posted at all times or be subject to early termination of their experience.
> 
>   1. Enter the laser tag area through the designated entrance door and exit through the designated exit door ONLY.
>   2. No foul or suggestive language in the laser tag arena. This is a family-friendly establishment and as such we ask that all language be kept at a maximum PG rating or lower.
>   3. No use of physical force against other players during your experience, including but not limited to hitting, slapping, biting, scratching, punching, or kicking others. A laser tag attendant will provide all materials necessary to ensure a fun yet competitive round.* 
>   4. Do not remain in the laser tag arena after your playtime ends.
>   5. All clothing must remain kept on at all times in the arena. Any clothing or personal items you wish to remove BEFORE the start of your experience can be stored in the storage cubbies within the waiting area.
>   6. All equipment must be returned to your laser tag attendant after your experience ends. Patrons will be held responsible on a case-by-case basis for the return of safely used, undamaged laser tag equipment. Damage of any equipment, including structures inside of the laser tag arena, will result in disciplinary action taken against all parties responsible for said damage.
> 

> 
> *Putzy’s Entertainment Palace, LLC will not be held responsible or liable for injuries sustained during laser tag experience or on any other part of the established property. Upon usage of facilities, each individual agrees to these terms of use and has been made to understand the terms of use and agreement presented to them prior to facility use. Putzy’s Entertainment Palace, LLC reserves the right to take executive and legal action against individuals and outside parties who fail to comply with the above rules based on severity of due damage against these facilities or other areas of the property. These rules are subject to change at any time and without prior warning at the discretion of the company. 

BP gestures loosely up to the board, a bit long-winded after having read all the rules. “As you can see, we here at Putzy’s Entertainment Palace take steps to ensure maximum fun and safety and ask you loyal patrons to please do the same. Are there any questions before the fun starts?” The five of you shake your head to spare him the embarrassment; that, and you want to get on with playing laser tag. BP sighs in relief and runs a hand down his face. “Oh, thank God, I hate it when they ask questions. This is why you’re my favorite, little buddy. C’mon, I’ll show you where to set your stuff and get you guys fitted with vests and laser guns. It won’t take long, promise.” You all follow him through the black door into a dark, square room with some storage cubes in one corner, a security monitor spread in the other, and various black vests hung up on one wall. “Pick one out and make sure it fits. Click the front part together when you have it on, and I’ll help you from there.” You and the others pick at random a vest off the rack. They all look the same— black, with small white text on the breast that reads ‘LASER CADET’ in a computerized white font, along with a two-digit number underneath that you presume starts at 01. The front has three areas with little lights under a clear plate— places you can be tagged— and there’s two on the back of the vest. You pick vest 04 and slip it over your shoulders, then fiddle with the front clip and belt mechanism at the bottom of the vest; it fits without being too snug, just what you’d hoped for. Frisk has little issue getting theirs on, too, but Papyrus and Undyne need help fixing theirs. Thankfully, it seems the company took account for larger individuals and for monsters, as you spot some vests down at the end that have little stickers on the metal hanger, to signify vests that would fit monsters with four, six, or eight arms.

BP finishes helping the taller monsters and goes around to check everyone’s vest. “Everyone good? Cool. Take the laser guns off the rack from the space where you got your vest. They’re numbered.” Everyone grabs their respective laser guns and looks to him for the next instructions. “Any of you never played laser tag before?”

Papyrus, Undyne, and Alphys raise their hands. You can’t speak for Frisk, but over the past few years you’d been here once or twice in your free time, so you know how the game works. From what you know of them, though, you wouldn’t be surprised if they’re good at this. “Here. Can I borrow your gun for a second, little buddy?” Frisk hands off the laser gun to BP. “So, the way this works— hold your gun upright, with the red end facing away from you like this.” He holds the laser gun at about stomach level, arm comfortably outstretched. “Then aim it to one of the plates on either the front or the back. These things are pretty generous with aim, so you don’t have to be spot on, but you do have to be about… eh, fifteen feet away or closer. There’s a lot of leeway, trust me.” He turns the gun on its side and holds it up for the three newcomers to see. There’s two buttons here, see? The top one is to ‘shoot’ the laser when you get a good aim, bottom is to reload your gun when it’s empty. This little screen on the back will tell you how many shots you have left before you gotta reload, so don’t think too hard about it. Oh, and there’s no teams, so it’s everyone versus each other.”

“WELL! That seems simple enough!” Papyrus nods in the affirmative and he’s practically shaking in his boots with excitement to get started.

“Sure is, my man. Stick to that and I’m sure you’ll win a round or two. There’s five rounds per game, ten minutes each. I’ll be in here watching in case anything goes wrong.” He grins, gives a thumbs up, and opens another door to the side of the security monitors into a dark room. It’s easy to see in here, but you presume that’s a result of your improved night vision and that it looks far dimmer to the others. You’re immediately at an advantage, no matter how slight. The rest of the arena beyond the starting point is lit by neon lights lining various wall structures throughout the room, formatted to create an open kind of maze. A _ping!_ sounds overhead, the signal to begin. You take off to the left and hug the wall until you see the first structure to hide behind, a wall with a large window cut-out in the middle. You duck to gauge your surroundings and make sure you haven’t been followed when an electronic noise goes off nearby; as you poke your head over the window, you catch a flash of white under the lavender glow of blacklights. Ah, there’s Papyrus. He’d been careful enough to wear a long-sleeve shirt today, but one of his sleeves is partially rolled up. You begin your pursuit from a distance and duck behind every structure in an attempt to stay one step behind, with the occasional 360-spin to make sure no one is following you in the meantime. Papyrus heads further into a more labyrinthine portion of the arena and you’re sure you’ve got him now. Once you round the corner, though, there’s no one there. You look behind you, crouched lower now, and sneak forward through the little maze. From here on, there’s no more maze to hide him, so you begin to backtrack and take a step backward without looking. There’s a hard surface and a clack, and figure you’ve hit a wall. You whip around a second later and see an equally surprised bony white face turn to stare at you. Both laser guns rise immediately in a stalemate.

“Having fun yet, dear enemy?” He whispers, quiet enough to produce an actual whisper for once. He might be working against you in this game, but he isn’t about to give away your location, or his for that matter. He’s smiling at you, and you stand still, frozen in place. Man, he looks awesome decked out like that. You can see why enjoys wearing the battle body to which Sans has alluded before.

“Morrigan? Are you alright?” You catch a brief flash of red below you. Oh, in the time you’d stood still, mouth open and likely looking stupid, he’d tagged you. You shake your head and look back up at him to grin, so as to remove all traces of worry from his visage. “Better, now that I’m going to return the favor.” You press your button and the light pad in the center of his vest, which flashes red and gives a little ‘beep’ noise to confirm the hit. There’s a five second grace period before another hit can land, so you quickly stalk off in the other direction at an above-normal speed, still hunched toward the ground. It’s only after you get a bit further away that your cheeks heat up a bit from your earlier reaction. What’s your deal right now?

There’s little time for thoughts of a similar nature, and soon you’re back into tactical gaming mode, the brief encounter all but forgotten. The game continues for the next 45 minutes, and you’re tagged multiple times while also landing many shots of your own. Frisk is a whiz at laser tag, the other four of you come to find, as you manage to land the least amount of hits on them when they sneak by. Undyne and Papyrus are a pretty even match, but you have yet to encounter her actually _hiding_ somewhere for even a moment— seems she’s all for a completely offensive approach. You encounter Alphys a lot in the beginning of the game and far less on the back half. The first time you found her, you held up your laser gun ready to shoot, and she’d thrown her hands up in surprise and dropped her gun. You felt bad, so you spared her the first time with the assurance that she’d do awesome from thereon out. Evidently, it works, because future encounters have her landing lots of hits on you and vice-versa, a smile on everyone’s faces. Eventually, though, your game ends—with Frisk as the champion and Undyne in close second— and you hustle back into the waiting room to shed your equipment and gather your belongings. The five of you thank BP and move out an exit toward back toward the front counter.

Undyne is the first to speak up. “Hey Frisk, you’d better tell Toriel thanks from all of us or else!” Alphys nods in agreement. “Yes, please! Uh, tell her we said that. Thanks, that is.”

“YES! WE HAD TOO MUCH FUN TO KEEP IT ALL TO OURSELVES!” Papyrus has a huge grin on his face and no sign of exhaustion from the prior activity. “What is next on our agenda?”

[I’m kinda hungry. Can we go eat?] Frisk suggests. [The place inside here is pretty good, I think.] Your group is walking that way anyway, so the other four of you agree and pick up an amicable pace in that direction. Which gives you time to think about earlier.

What had you felt back there, seeing Papyrus in the middle of the game under the lavender glow of the room? Something foreign, not unwelcome nor unpleasant, just… different than your usual take on your very good friend. Say you let yourself even entertain the notion of something beyond friendship; have you known him long enough? Do you know him well enough to truly want that? And, more importantly, would _he_ want to test the waters? You haven’t known the guy for very long— not even two months— and already you know deep down that this is something for present you to confront, not to be put off as a problem to bother future you like most of your other dilemmas in life. Putting off today what could be done tomorrow only worked in so many ways before it came, inevitably and silently, to bite you in the ass.

You get a better look at your surroundings once your gang arrives at the little in-building diner Frisk foretold of. The past few years, you actively avoided setting foot in a restaurant like this if you didn’t have to, so this was a new part of the experience for everyone except Frisk. You look to them now, and they raise their eyebrows back at you inquisitively. You wish they were a bit older; they’re a human that is clearly immersed in life with monsters and might have something interesting to say. To you, it seems silly and a bit awkward to reveal your relationship issues to a ten-year-old, so you brush off the idea. At least, not for the moment.

A server notices your group standing near the velvet rope in front of the podium that reads, ‘PLEASE WAIT TO BE SEATED’, and comes over to greet and seat you. The place isn’t busy at all, and there’s four other people at their own booth in the far corner of the restaurant. The five of you take up a rounded corner booth and scootch into place. You’re nestled between Frisk and Papyrus. The server hands off your menus with the promise of momentary return to retrieve your drink selections. You flip the menu over and peruse the short list of available beverages; there’s standard issue sodas, chocolate milk, various milkshakes, and plain water or iced tea. You opt for the ‘safer’ option of iced tea, even with the knowledge in the back of your mind that if this place is like any other restaurant, the ice dispenser and tea dispensers are hardly ever cleaned. It hasn’t killed you yet, so whatever. After your decision, a sharp pang of anguish hits and you flip through the rest of the menu. You’re hungry, sure, but that darker part of you, the one that continues to chain you down after all these years, rears its horrid head. You’ve been doing so well lately, slowly starting to take better care of yourself, and now this crops up out of the blue. It makes you feel pathetic and disgusted. How could you think about Papyrus like you did, earlier? Maybe he just pretends to tolerate your stupid ass for… the sake of making work a bit easier. That must be it.

You suddenly feel helpless to your eating disorder. You technically don’t have to eat human food, after all, and this isn’t the first time your mood has suddenly dropped off after hanging out with friends. It’s just something that happens to you sometimes, and nothing you feel you can’t stick out with some reassuring thoughts and a deep breath. Usually. Still, you continue to flip through the laminated pages until you reach the ‘sides’ section. There’s the option for a cup of applesauce, and as tempting as it is, you feel it would be too suspicious. You don’t have the will right now to fend off your eating disorder like usual, so with an internal sigh, you settle for a garden salad and a cup of applesauce, which will surely convince your friends that you’re a normal human (or normal vampire, if semantics really count here) who has no issues eating food like a normal person. Not.

As the server collects all your orders, you fail to notice the suspicious glint coming from Alphys’s eyes, or the knowing look from Papyrus. She doesn’t say anything, though, and chatter doesn’t cease for a moment as the five of you continue to regale your individual experiences with today’s laser tag fun. Soon enough, the food arrives, plates shift, and everyone digs in. You stab a shred of spinach with your fork and curl your top lip back in what barely qualifies as a grimace— no sense in making a big fuss about something you chose, after all. Everyone digs in, and Frisk offers you a fry that you accept without complaint. There’s no winning with your eating disorder right now, it seems, so you do turn away from Papyrus slightly to shove the fry in your mouth as discreetly as you can. Same with the rest of your dinner, but it’s hard to do because you can feel him watching you at points throughout the meal. After about an hour, and a milkshake Frisk orders to-go, the five of you officially end dinner and exit the restaurant. You leave a five-dollar tip as part of the contribution pile from everyone else.

Once outside, the sun still shines down overhead, albeit tucked far further down behind the mountains than before. As the five of you walk to your respective vehicles, Alphys and Undyne are the first to say thanks and farewell, but not before they exchange phone numbers with you. During dinner, the topic shifted to Undyne’s line of work; she apparently works at a local gym as a regular instructor, where she teaches mostly strength training and some martial arts-oriented classes. She received her official certification a few months ago and is always welcome to new clients, apparently. You tell her that you already have a university gym pass, but she says that since you’re a close friend (to your delight and shock) that you can come to classes a few times a week free of charge. Thus, an exchange of phone numbers. You also catch Alphys’s number because, well, the two of them are practically a package deal, and you get the strong sense that you’ll do much more talking with Alphys over text than in person.

After that, it’s just you, Frisk, and Papyrus left, so the three of you make tracks toward Papyrus’s car of choice (a red convertible that’s at least a decade old.) Frisk turns to you and smiles, then reaches out for a hug. [Good seeing you, Morrigan. I had a lot of fun today. So did Papyrus.] they add, finishing off the sentence with a repeated raising of eyebrows. Ah, so either they’re more perceptive than you originally pinned them to be, or you’re making your feelings obvious through body language. You curse internally and make note to try and hide whatever you feel toward Papyrus (no sense in denying that there’s _a_ feeling there) a bit better. Frisk reaches up for a hug and you stoop down a little to oblige. Then they climb in the car and shut the door to open their phone as they wait for you and Papyrus to exchange niceties.

“Did you have fun today, Papyrus?” This time, you engage him, as it’s usually the other way around.

“OODLES! There is nothing quite like spending quality time with my great friends! I especially enjoyed the part where you… oh, darn it, what’s that thing Frisk says sometimes?” He moves a gloved hand up to his chin in consideration. “Oh yeah! ‘Got pwned’!” You can’t help but laugh as Papyrus adds air quotes to the phrase. “SERIOUSLY, THOUGH. I’m glad that you could come along and hang out with us! And that you’re now smiling!”

“What do you mean?”

“Well…” he looks away, and then back up at you, “I am very observant, as you must know. Earlier, I observed at dinner that you, for some reason, became sad over the course of the meal. Which is par for the course, generally, with such greasy fare, but that cannot have been the cause of it with your selection!” Oh, is he calling you out for picking a salad? You hope not. “So, I, the Great Papyrus, am inclined to ask— truly, friend, are you as out of sorts inside as you appear?” It’s very sweet of him to ask that, and to even take notice to your outward emotions in the first place. You suppose you aren’t actually surprised that he picked up on your sadness at dinner, but you certainly aren’t about to tell him the true nature of your feelings. Holding off on revealing the truth isn’t lying, is it? This isn’t the time and place for something as heavy a topic as a history of a full-blown eating disorder, anyway. He deserves to know at least a skosh of the truth.

“Ok, ya caught me.” You throw your hands up in admission. “I was feeling sad earlier, yeah, and to be honest… I still don’t feel very good at all. It’s a thing that happens to me sometimes, I guess. I’ll be hanging out with friends and having a blast and then suddenly my mood drops just like that.” You snap your fingers for effect. “Don’t worry, though, it’ll sort itself out tonight probably. Always has before, anyway, and worse case, I just go to sleep feeling sad and then wake up and feel better in the morning. No big deal.” That’s you, or maybe right now it’s your eating disorder speaking, still grasping for some semblance of control over the situation. Something to indicate that no, you were not spiraling, and yes, Papyrus should focus his worries elsewhere, even if a part of you wants nothing more than for him to fawn over you with concern.

He frowns. Dammit, you hate to see him frown, especially if you’re the cause. “If it upsets you, it’s important, no matter how trivial the cause might seem.” Double dammit, he’s using that gentle tone of voice that comes out when he’s serious about something. “You can’t be happy all the time, of course, and you shouldn’t try to be. No one can be, not even myself. But please, know that you don’t have to downplay your emotions around me. Even I, honest as I am, am admittedly guilty of doing the exact thing I ask you to avoid. Still— know that if there’s something on your mind, or in your heart, whatever troubles you, I will do my best to lend an open ear. Disregard the fact that I don’t have ears for the moment, please.” You presently don’t have the words to match such a heartfelt take, so you nod and respond, “Thank you, Papyrus. Really, I can’t tell you how much something like that means to me. I don’t think I tell you often enough how much I appreciate your friendship.” Which is probably for the best, because you’d get going on a tangent and risk revealing some deeper feelings to him, a task you feel unprepared for.

“Of course, Morrigan! Anything for my great friend!” There’s that regular, chipper tone once again. “I do have something in mind, though, if you’re open to suggestion!”

“Alright, shoot.”

“Frisk is staying at my house tonight for a sleepover. Would you like to come over and spend the night?”

“You know what? I’d love to. I’ll head home and grab a few things and then head over, yeah?”

“ALRIGHTY! REST ASSURED, THIS SLEEPOVER WILL NOT DISAPPOINT! See you soon!” He steps forward just a bit and raises his arms. It takes you a moment to realize what he’s waiting for: a hug. Okay, don’t make this awkward, he just said some touching things and it’s only fitting that he’d follow it up with a hug. You step forward and wrap your arms around his skeletal figure with only a touch of embarrassment. Not because it’s bad to hug him or anything, but more because… well, it’s clear to you why. You wave one more goodbye as they peel out of the parking lot and head back to your motorcycle to follow suit.

***

Here you are, once again at the front door of your good friend’s home. You knock gently because you feel ringing the doorbell at this hour might be a bit rude. You hear the light shuffle of feet across the carpet and then the door swings open to the sight of Sans, surprisingly.

“Hey man, what’s up?” There’s something about Sans that just begs for casual and laid-back conversation. Not that he’s lazy, no— just that there’s a quality of ease in the air as you converse with him, save for that one occasion.

“the ceiling. really though? not much. frisk and my bro got here not too long ago and talked my external acoustic meatus off.” He catches your confusion and adds, “heh, ear hole. i’m no showoff though, I just think the word ‘meatus’ is funny. come inside if you want to.” He turns and moves back toward the couch on which he had been sitting before answering the door. Frisk sits on the floor in front of him, and the TV shows a paused video game; Frisk has one controller, and the other rests undisturbed adjacent. You immediately recognize the game.

“Oh man, is that CNK?”

[Yep. I’d say you can play with me, but I’m in the middle of a cup race with Papyrus.]

The taller skeleton is nowhere to be seen, at least until he comes bounding down the hallway. “SANS, WHERE DID YOU— OH, hello Morrigan!” He’s already in different clothing than before and sits down next to Frisk, bones swathed in comfy T-shirt and long plaid pajama pants. It’s official, you think, he can pull off any look he wants to. The present look is cozy (and kind of cute), not a word you would have previously delegated to a skeleton before meeting him. Frisk gets up and heads to the kitchen for a refill of drink and asks if you’d like anything also.

“Just water, with ice please if there is any.” They return shortly with the glass and, after confirming Papyrus is ready, unpause the game. The screen is split horizontally, and you ask who’s who; Frisk is player one for some reason, so their top screen shows a virtual car zipping along with Crash Bandicoot as the driver. Papyrus focuses on the lower screen, which shows a Dr. Neo Cortex in an evil-looking racecar zooming along the track, with the two of them in first and second place, respectively.

“I used to play this game a lot growing up. I’m surprised people still play it,” you tell the two of them.

[After we got settled in on the surface, Mom wanted to get me a game console for my birthday and she asked Alphys for help. Alphys told her to get an older-gen console because I guess there’s a better selection of games or something.] She has a point there— consoles from older generations definitely had a lot more to offer than some of the newer games out there.

“What else do you play?” You listen to them prattle off a list of other games, including the blocky building game you so enjoy on the computer. “Ah, I see you’re a person of culture as well.” Frisk chuckles a bit to indicate that they’ve seen that image. This back-and-forth continues for a while longer, until, after many completed races, Papyrus decides that it’s time for bed.

“NORMALLY, WE WOULD DO MANY OTHER ACTIVITIES TO FILL THE NIGHT. But tomorrow I work early, and the two of you have school, for which you must get plenty of rest!” His gaze shifts to you, and you get the sense he’s referring to the fact that you woke up so uncharacteristically early and texted him yesterday. You also get the sense that he’s only going to bed for the sake of his guests, rather than out of personal need to retire early.

“Oh man, I’m usually up way past now!” You must admit you’re tired after the total of today’s antics, so you gladly take the pillow and blanket presented to you to place on the couch. Frisk has the guest room, so it only makes sense that you would take up rest in this portion of the house. Fortunately, the couch is a bit older, meaning it has one of those fold-out beds stuffed inside. Papyrus helps you fiddle with the bed until it’s properly setup, and you create a makeshift nest, then climb under the covers. Papyrus stands at the edge of the living room and bids you goodnight before making his way, along with Sans, to a bedroom down the hall for some unseen bedtime ritual. The door to the room shuts, but you hear Sans’s voice anyway— he’s reading something, about ‘the monster at the end of this book’? That can’t be right, you think, but as you drift to sleep under the warm embrace of the comforter, you find that it doesn’t really matter to you. Right now, you’re grateful to sleep even in the same home as such good friends as these.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Man, feelings and shit? Who comes up with this?  
> Still a slow burn, for sure...
> 
> About the eating disorder. I'm sorry if anyone feels that I'm romanticizing them throughout this story, I promise that isn't my intent- my purpose with its inclusion is partially to vent about my own experiences, vicariously, and also to provide a bit of insight to some of the behaviors or thoughts that people with eating disorders might experience. They're horrible, debilitating diseases that no one chooses to develop. Morrigan's ED isn't the focus of the story, so that's why this part is more of a little relapse than anything, but I still feel it important to include.
> 
> CNK is Crash Nitro Kart, a racing game for the PS2. If you've never heard it, my little gamer heart weeps for you. Also I hadn't originally thought much on the idea that Frisk would be voiced by John DiMaggio, but the idea of a little kid walking around with a voice like that is funny to me for some reason. So in it goes. And I'm sure that sign language takes a long, long time to learn in its entirety.
> 
> Oh, and little note, a necropsy is an autopsy but for animals instead of humans.


	10. Vampires Can’t Spelunk. Or is it “Go Spelunking?” Either Way, They Aren’t Cave Dwellers, That’s for Sure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You and friends take the aforementioned cave trip.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's no major warnings here to give, seems I somehow managed to avoid wedging gore in this chapter.

The rest of the week has flown by at a breakneck pace, it seems, as days leading up to exams always do. Thankfully, your tests for both classes are both scheduled on Friday, which gives you some time at least to continue studying before the date and get in last-minute facts. Everything should fall into place pretty well, by your estimate.

So why is it, then, that the Tuesday morning of your promised cave-diving is here, and you’re anything but excited? Not that you’re going for a particularly fun reason, but Alphys got herself all worked up about in the past couple days. It’s wholesome seeing her get so excited about it, but she hasn’t been having recurring dreams about it like you have about the virtues of justice and patience or seeing herself standing in a tidepool stained red from her own bloody actions. Simply one more thing to keep you barred off from opening up to your friends, as a constant reminder that even though you ‘look’ like an average human, you’re a creature far more awful. There’s no time to waste in rumination over your shortcomings, so you climb out of bed and begin preparations for your little excursion. Alphys said a few days ago that she would bring almost all of the necessary equipment but suggested you should bring items you might already have lying around— such as a flashlight or a lantern and gloves, alongside a few other things. So here you are, fifteen minutes later, black hiking backpack slung over shoulder and hiking boots about to be put to good use. You pack some old mechanic’s gloves and kneepads purchased for gardening, as well as a weighty metal flashlight and a worn folding knife purchased long ago from a flea market weapons stand. On top of that there’s an extra pair of socks, a ratty old hoodie, and a portable first aid kit. After careful consideration, you also tuck your magic book in there, with the knowledge that even if it won’t get used, your friends can’t read it— you’d tested that one out with Hannah earlier, and learned that she saw something entirely different than you. That must be the ‘everchanging’ part of the book. Your hair sectioned back in a ponytail and a hat embellished with the environmental hazard symbol, you’re ready to head out.

The drive to Toriel’s house foreshadows nothing besides a bright and clear day ahead, useful even if you plan to spend the brunt of your time outdoors underground. When you arrive, you see the signs of your other friends’ presences parked against the curb and waste no time being ushered inside. The slight aroma of something delicious lingers in the air, but you don’t see Toriel anywhere. Instead, Alphys is in the kitchen and she removes a cellophane-covered tray from the fridge, along with a big Tupperware container, and sets them on the table. “Toriel can’t— she isn’t here right now because she’s at school. So is Frisk because it’s a school day, but she texted me and told me to take these.” Right. When not occupied with other tasks, Toriel volunteers in the younger classes at Frisk’s school. You’d asked what she’s doing now that there wasn’t much need for a King and Queen above ground, and she told you that she mostly helps run a little bakery downtown while she works on a teaching certification. You guess that because working a bakery and volunteering aren’t particularly lucrative occupations that she must do something else too, or else she lucked out with such a house because of her royal status. Alphys peels back the cellophane to reveal what appear to be granola bars, but round. Granola rounds? There’s plenty in the tray, so she grabs one and takes a small bite off a side. “Oh, these are really good! Which isn’t surprising, I guess.” You ask her to describe the taste. “It’s peanut buttery and chocolatey also… and I think there’s like, some fruits or seeds or something in there too?” She then opens the other container, which holds four sections of sub sandwich. “There’s a note on this one. ‘I hope these will suffice instead of something I might usually cook up.” She closes the container and grabs a big sandwich bag from a pack sitting on the ground leaning against the wall, then carefully scoops the peanut butter creations into the bag. “It isn’t very hot out, and we’ll have our backpacks the whole time, so there shouldn’t be risk of bears or anything getting the food.” You aren’t sure whether she says this to reassure you, or herself more.

“So, did we wanna head out soon?” You ask, as you can’t think of much more reason to lounge around inside the house.

“Yeah, Undyne and Papyrus are probably getting antsy by now. When we get there, can you help me set the stuff up? I’ll tell you what to do, it’s easy— I p-promise.” You turn to her with a smile, and she returns in same. The two of you step out of the kitchen with food and gear fully situated, and find the others already outside, wiggling like runners at a start line. Undyne and Alphys are almost identically outfitted with dark green shirts and tan shorts reminiscent of the kind park rangers might sport, the ones with lots of pockets. They also have utility belts with various objects jutting out, finished off with hiking boots and long white socks. Papyrus looks ready to go in his own special way— he has on dark brown shirt with fluorescent orange stripes on the sleeves, black backpack, faded blue jeans, and thick reddish-brown boots. Atop his skull is a yellow baseball cap covered in a red flower print, supported by thick black sunglasses that are supported by… well, you can’t say what, but regardless, he looks eager as ever to begin. He turns to you and speaks up. “HELLO, MORRIGAN! Do you know who I am?”

Your confused look is answer enough for him, because he adds, “You may be thinking, ‘Surely that’s my cool friend, the Great Papyrus!’ and you would be right! BUT! TODAY I’M SO MUCH MORE THAN JUST THAT!” He gestures to his outfit. “Today, I am none other than Mountaineer Papyrus, Hiking and Spelunking Extraordinaire! But for the sake of simplicity, you may continue to call me Papyrus as you have been. Just know there’s a difference!” Your face lights up with a smile, one that barely contains laughter at his grandeur. Not mean-spirited laughter, of course, but appreciation of how confident he is in his admittedly silly getup. After a quick double-check for the presence of all needed supplies, especially Alphys’s caving equipment, the four of you trek forth toward the woods with you in the lead. Small creatures dart through the undergrowth, too fast to be tracked by anything but a watchful eye and skitter away from the crunch of footsteps over the dense landscape. As you lead on, you tune in on a multitude of sounds— the scuttle of a bug on a nearby tree trunk, the paws of a shrew hiding in the roots of a bush, covering itself from fauna much more dangerous. It makes you wonder how the others experience this shared walk; does monster hearing tend to be better than human hearing, or does it depend on the monster? Any way you try to put it, you aren’t sure it’s a question you want to broach right now, so you let it drift out from your most prevalent thoughts.

Undyne and Alphys have taken up the back because Alphys is moving at a little slower pace. Her face and body language suggest nothing about how difficult she personally finds the hike, so maybe she’s hanging back with Undyne for a conversation in more intimate terms. That leaves Papyrus, saddled next to you in step long ago, expression grasped in thought as he moves and commentates on your surroundings. “Hey, Morrigan. Do you like the outdoors?” A simple question, and a great lead-in for what you say next. “Well, sure I do. I don’t think I’d get very far in my degree if I didn’t like hiking or camping. You?”

“WELL, OF COURSE I DO! It’s practically a requirement for a Royal Guardsman!”

“Royal Guardsman? Were you in a Royal Guard?” He turns to you now and stops in his tracks to hold up a finger as correction. “Not just any ol’ Royal Guard, no! You are looking at an Honorary Extremely Skilled Guardsman to the Royal Family, my full title!” He leans down to whisper in your ear, “Don’t go around spreading this very secret information, though. My role is so secret, not even the King and Queen know I have it! Only myself, Undyne, my brother, and now you know.” The fact that neither royal figurehead knows about this is cause for questioning, but he looks so sure of his secret that you vow to keep mum about it. If Papyrus tells you a secret only three other people know— one of them being him— you’re going to treat that knowledge just as respectfully as if he tells you something far more serious. You cock your head back a little to look at Undyne, but she’s still deep in conversation with Alphys. By now the four of you are far past the invisible boundaries of hide-and-seek from before, moving over what is uncharted ground for everyone besides yourself. The woods look the same, save for a denser spread of growth both underfoot and off to your sides, usually unhindered by foot traffic, and the cream-colored sun catches the leaves and bounces off every twig and branch in a serene, brilliant shine. It's not quite the type of forest that lands a modeling gig on outdoorsy magazine covers, but it certainly teems with both natural life and leafy decay, tinged with the scent of loamy, damp patches. You get a little sidetracked now and then, but the general path toward the cave is the same— in your earlier haste, you hadn’t gotten the chance to take better stock of surroundings, but every so often you spot a specific rock or a funny-looking tree trunk and know you’re still on track. After what seems much longer a time than your original run toward the cave, you reach your destination— a familiar little ledge with large clumps of bright green woody shrubs underneath.

“Alright, here we are.” You direct the others to follow you down the gentle slopes which meet the lower ground on either side. Gloves already prepared, you part the bush as best you can with an arm on one side to create a little path to the cave; it isn’t ideal and is very small in comparison to some of your companions, but it will have to suffice. You’re the first one through, and you let the bush fall behind you before crouching at the cave entrance. It’s dark for a second, then light filters in once again behind you, and here comes Alphys, then Undyne, and Papyrus last of all. Alphys pulls two objects out of her backpack— two round helmets with a light poking out the front, from the looks of it. Papyrus whips out a flashlight along with you, which shine nearly as bright as the helmets at the cost of using up a hand. You aren’t sure how to tell the others that the cave for you isn’t very dark at all even without the light, so you just resolve to pretend to have as limited nocturnal sight as everyone else, and keep your flashlight turned on and at the ready. Each friend bears a different expression— yours alert, Undyne’s wary, Papyrus’s bright, and Alphys’s calculating. Alphys takes no shortcuts in going over every little crack and niche in the stone walls, careful even to survey the smooth rock beneath your feet as the four of you tread carefully down the decline. Then comes the sharp dropoff, to which you sharply thrust your arm out as a motion to stop moving.

“There’s a drop here— it isn’t super tall, but still, I think we should go one at a time.”

Papyrus steps forward to go first. “Don’t worry! This drop looks pretty shallow, and I am probably taller!” He sits down on the ledge, locks his arms into place, and springs forth with an “alley-oop!” as he hits the ground with a soft _clunk_ , sticking the landing as the brunt of impact dissipates through his crouched legs. He turns back and gives a thumbs-up to complement his smile. “SEE? Nothing to it!” Undyne is next, and she springs up higher off the ledge than Papyrus, one leg further out than the other and arms up in freefall. Her landing is nearly perfect, but her gymnastics mean that she hits the ground with a bit more force than your skeletal friend. “Now THAT’S how it’s done!” Wide, toothy grin on her face, illuminated by the artificial light that pours from your flashlights, she beckons to you and Alphys. “Come on in, the stone is fine!”

The two of you still on the slope share a look— you’re both a similar height, shorter than Papyrus and Undyne, so the length of the fall will be greater for you two than it was for them. Alphys backs up a little bit, deterred by the thought of leaping off a mini cliff. Undyne sees this and tries to coax her with a, “I’m sure you can stick the landing! At least 90% sure!” The 10% margin of error does nothing to help Alphys, and she continues to hesitate. Undyne sighs, a slight breath of air out her nose— not as a sign of frustration, but as a sign of quick, determined thought. “Alright, sit on the ledge and I think I’ll be able to lower you down that way.” Alphys considers this, nods, and positions herself on the edge to be grabbed by her strong girlfriend; Undyne in turn steps closer to her, arms raised to get a good grip around Alphys’s torso area. Not so much as a huff leaves the fish monster’s mouth and she places Alphys gently down next to her, then turns up to you. “You’re next, punk. Wanna jump, or what?” While you know that you can jump and stick the landing to boot, it might raise eyebrows. Better let your friends help you and establish your physical limits now. “Nah, help me down.” you respond as you scoot forward to accept assistance. This time, Papyrus steps up to the plate, much to your mixed feelings. Instinct wonders whether he can successfully lift you, given his skeletal nature. Another part of you knows he can— you’ve seen him do some seriously heavy lifting at work before— but still, you aren’t sure until he, after confirming his grip, hoists you down with no external effort. “Wowie, that was easy!” He must be stronger than you imagined; you don’t think you’re particularly small or light, after all. Thoughts aside, you all continue down the corridor with increased wariness— any natural light from the outside which had backlit your journey so far is gone, blocked by the sheer little stone cliff behind you. The passage before you looks as it did in your first journey, rather than in your dreams; a cold, weathered gray tunnel which begins to narrow shortly after you creep forward. At first the difference in passage diameter is nearly unnoticeable, but after a few minutes your taller friends complain in full. “Hey, what gives?!” Undyne hisses after she bonks her head on the ceiling, a hand raised to rub a spot in her hair. “I don’t think either of us will make it much further at this rate.” she notes as she points to Papyrus. He nods in agreement and adds, “We’ll go as far as we can without getting crushed and leave the rest up to Alphys and Morrigan! Truly a great time to be short!” Both you and Alphys chuckle a bit, as the ringing of Papyrus’s voice echoes slightly down the walkway.

They reach their furthest point in the tunnel soon enough. “End of the road for us. I wish we could go further, but they don’t call us Royal Guards for nothing, right Papyrus?” Undyne claps her bony friend on the shoulder with enough force to make him stumble slightly, but he shows no outward signs of pain from the strong gesture. “Just be back soon, and don’t get into anything too spooky, got it?” Alphys looks to Undyne, who stoops down to give her a peck on her snout, flashes a little grin between the two of them, and then you’re off towards the narrowing end of the tunnel. You spend no great length of time crouched, moving forward, which turns to a crawl, and then you’re at the little hole in the wall which marks the only visible entrance to the chamber ahead. You shimmy through easily enough, but Alphys takes a bit longer to wedge herself through, inch by inch, and you stick your hands out as an offer to help her. “Don’t feel bad, it isn’t exactly accommodating to any humans or monsters that I know.” She manages to wriggle through, only a bit scuffed by the rock face around her. She stands up to brush herself off as you do, and responds, “Thanks for that. It’s t-too bad the others couldn’t come in here with us, though.” She turns to take stock of the chamber, wide eyes lit up by the lime green glow hidden from view and turns to you with an expression of wonderment. “Even in the Underground, we didn’t usually have any areas like this— well, I can think of one, maybe, but this probably isn’t connected to it? We can’t say for sure yet, I’m more or less just throwing it out there.” She swings her backpack off from both shoulders, setting it on the ground as gently as can be to lean against part of the wall. “I managed to get pretty much everything we need, but I’m still going to need your help to um, get the best results. Are you okay with doing most of the measuring? I want to take very detailed notes and it would make it easiest that way.”

“Of course, just tell me what to do!” You’re a bit nervous at this prospect but excited to learn something new and help a friend in the process. That’s a feeling you tend to get, even in unexpected places— whether it be fruitfully helping a customer at work or answering another student’s question in class when you can. Sometimes you’re afraid that your help is unwanted, but so far, no one has called you out on it. Amidst your thoughts, Alphys unzips a few pouches on her utility belt and pulls out two objects, which she hands off to you. “I’m sure you know what this is,” she says as she points a clawed digit toward the metal compass in your left hand, “and the other thing is called a clinometer. It’s used to measure vertical slopes and heights, but looking around, maybe it won’t be as useful as I thought. Still! Can’t be too prepared, hehe! You can put them in your pockets, just be careful.” You do as she suggests for the moment, if only to free up your hands, and zip up each pants pocket on either side to safely house the expensive equipment. She then opens another pouch and extends her hand to pass it to you. “I wasn’t sure how big the cave would be, so I came overprepared. This is a range finder, which is basically just a hi-tech measuring tape. I also have an old-school reel in my bag in case that works better for you.” Alphys spends a few minutes demonstrating how each piece of equipment works and shows you how to get a final reading along with what each button does. “D-don’t worry too much about being exact, as this trip is just meant for general measurements and what I’m more or less looking for are ballpark figures, ok?”

“That’s fair. I’ll be careful with these, scout’s honor.” You hold up a hand in salute to show your sincerity.

“Of course! It might be easiest if you start with the outer measurements of the chamber and go from there.”

Your next couple hours are truly an experience for the books, you can say with certainty. Every so often you hear either Papyrus or Undyne check in from beyond the chamber entrance; their loud voices carry down the corridor with ease, and the four of you relay information on the regular about how your efforts progress. Other than a few hesitations, you gather abundant data for Alphys to later analyze, and she offers direction on what parts you need to measure next and the number of desired measurements. “You’re doing pretty well for your first time, actually!” she supplies at one point, and you laugh.

“Cool, all I want is to get you as much data as you need.” An emotion you fail to pinpoint crops up not too long after— a feeling of unease populates the back of your mind and a quiet malaise sets in. You look up from your work to gauge Alphys’s mood, but she looks just as engrossed in her drafting as before. You think about the indented portion of the wall with its cryptic writing, paired with an increasing need to stop your work and get a second opinion on the message. So, you do stop, heave yourself up off the ground and back toward your friend. “Hey, got a moment? There’s something I need to show you.” You wince internally immediately after the words come from your mouth, but Alphys only offers a slow blink before she sets her devices down. “Sure… what is it?” Silence ensues as she follows you to the far wall of the chamber, careful to skirt around the length of the pool.

“This.” You point unceremoniously to the inscription on the wall, words illuminated by the artificial glow from her helmet. “I found it the first time I fell in here, but I can’t make out what it says.” This isn’t a lie— the way you say it, you mean the top portion, with the hopes that maybe it’s an ancient monster language that a smarter being could decipher. Alphys leans forward into the niche a bit, squinting for a better look. “Don’t feel too bad, but… I’m sorry, I can’t make heads or tails of it either.” She backs up with a disappointed look. “None of it makes sense, but maybe it’s connected to the pool somehow?”

Something in her phrasing catches your attention. “So, the top portion is just in an unknown language? Maybe it’s a dead one.” You need to be sure about what she meant, so of course you beat around the bush a little to extract an answer. It works, though, because she then replies, “No, the whole thing. All of the text is unreadable.”

“All of it?”

“Yes, that’s what I just said.” She pinches the bridge of her nose with one hand, eyes closed in a clear sign of frustration at your repeated questioning.

“Sorry, Alphys, I don’t mean to sound like a broken record. It’s just that… well, I—”

“HEY! YOU TWO HAVE BEEN AWFULLY QUIET, IS EVERYTHING ALRIGHT IN THERE?” A shout from beyond the chamber, Papyrus’s, breaks your sentence off. So much for impulsively admitting everything to Alphys.

You call back with a cupped hand, “Yeah, we’re fine! Just going over some measurements is all!” Silence, and then Alphys asks,

“Sorry, um, what were you saying, Morrigan?”

“Oh, well, it’s just that… you know how you said— darn it. Give me a moment.” You whip around, back to her, and think for a minute. Should you tell her the truth? A definite, strong feeling of ‘yes’ resounds through you from some unreachable part of your figurative heart, and you know without a doubt she deserves to know the truth. The entire truth, without fragments, omissions, little pieces here and there missing for convenience, but you can’t spill all of it now. Is it lying, if only part of the truth comes out, bit by bit, one groundbreaking phrase at a time? You know that you’ll tell her about your true nature and everything that encompasses when the opportunity next comes. It’s only right, you feel.

You wheel around to face her, expression equally nervous as hers, perhaps for different reasons. “Okay, you know how you said you can’t read any of this text? Well, I can. I don’t mean that as a brag or anything, just something strange, you know? Because the bottom part, right where there’s a gap in the text,” you point to the text in question, “looks English to me. I thought they said the same things and maybe someone wrote the bottom text in a more common language, but I guess that isn’t the case, huh?” The words tumble from your mouth in a nervous flurry. “I can’t explain why. I mean, I have an idea as to why, sure, but I promise I’ll tell you more about my hunch later.” Alphys looks astounded at your admission, and she throws out a couple of stutter-ridden false starts before she clears her throat. “I don’t know what to say… but I do know that I trust you, Morrigan. If you think it’s better to tell me more later, then so be it. I’ll wait. I’ve done my fair share of making people wait for the rest of the story too, and I know it isn’t easy.” she says, with a glance toward the ceiling that you don’t quite understand. “Was that all you wanted to show me?”

The faintest hint of hesitation makes you pause before you say, “No, actually. It’s the pool. I was hoping that maybe if you could read this text that you could give insight on that, but… hey, that’s alright though. Wouldn’t hurt to show you anyway, while we’re down here.” So, you both move toward the water and stand a little ways away from the edge. The contained water stagnates, perfectly still. You point to the small obelisk that pokes up from the center of the water, its swirling patterns barely visible from whatever light isn’t sucked into the clear darkness below.

“I didn’t see any writing on the pillar, but I think it’s connected somehow to what’s in the bottom of the pool.”

Alphys looks over to you, almost incredulous. “What do you mean? I can’t see the bottom…”

“I saw this place in a dream. After the first time I’d been here, I had a dream where everything here was the same, but a long time ago? There was this mouse, and it showed me this vase sunk down there that’s filled with sand. Or it was filled with sand, maybe it still is, I don’t know. The point is, I’ve dreamt about it. Multiple times.”

“O-oh. I guess that makes sense. Actually, it doesn’t, if I’m being honest— none of this makes sense. Why is this chamber here in the first place? I feel like there’s so many questions and hardly any answers. That’s the way it always works, though, isn’t it?” She flashes a sad smile, and you reach up to brush her shoulder in comfort.

“Hey, I’m just confused as you are, if not more. I’m just really glad we had the opportunity to go down here today, and that you know what you’re doing.” It’s true— you’re grateful that your three friends went through the effort, and especially that Alphys believes you. This entire time, she hasn’t said one thing about your unbelievable explanations or even questioned aloud things you found very suspicious. Whether out of respect or from thoughts focused elsewhere, it seems Alphys trusts you enough to let your explanations for strange happenings come one piece at a time.

“You’re right,” she replies as she perks up a bit, “I bet we can figure this out more once the data are all spread out in front of us. Speaking of, we should probably take those final measurements.” You agree, and the two of you take your positions back up, gathering the last few important points for your geological survey. Once that’s finished, Alphys scribbles off some final notes and packs everything away, evidently content with today’s findings. You don’t think there’s much you can do about something that bugs you, but you’re already down here, so you mention it: “I should say, before we go, that I don’t think this chamber is isolated. I think there are more parts of the cave like it— beyond these walls. Let me show you.” You lead her over to a part of the wall that, in your dream, had been replaced by another open chamber, and many more beyond that, as part of a far larger cave system than is visible at present. “See, it looks like this wall is the same as the other parts, but in my dream, it wasn’t here. This section,” you move your arm in a circle as an approximation of the hole, “was carved out, and there was lots more behind it.”

Alphys supplies little more than a ‘hmm’ at first, then raises her hand to rap sharply on the wall. She knocks a few times, pauses, and then presses the side of her head to the smooth surface, presumably as a means of hearing the sound better. She does this on one portion of the wall, then walks about five feet to her right and does it again. “My hearing admittedly isn’t the best for this, but there’s like. Almost a hint of a difference in acoustics? The noise sounds hollower when I knock on the stone next to where we were standing versus anywhere else. Put your ear to the wall.” You move over to her and stick your head against the wall where it’s solid as Alphys gives another firm knock. The sound is solid and quiet— the kind of noise expected when you hit a rock. Then she does it again over the area of possible opening, and it sounds nearly the same except for a slight difference, as if the force reverberates through the wall and the kinetic energy meets open air on the other side. “I think it sounds a bit different, but it’s faint and hard to tell.”

“Shoot, I wish we had better equipment to measure the acoustics, but I didn’t bring it with me. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be upset! If anything, that was more of an aside, just something to think about while we chart the cave.”

“You have a point… still, this new information leads me to believe that conducting a cave survey for the entire system will be harder than I originally imagined. It might take longer to complete—”

You interrupt her. “People, or monsters, or whatever, don’t just wall off rooms for shits and giggles. There has to be a reason why someone erected a false wall here to block off the rest of the cave. If it takes longer, so be it.” You get a bit worked up, and immediately feel bad, because this is something Alphys elected to do as a favor to you in her free time, and beggars can’t be choosers, can they? “Sorry, I just… this is important to me, you know? The dreams I’ve had are so ambiguous, and the sooner this is solved, the better for all of us.”

“It’s alright, I can understand that. Trust me, as a scientist, I want to know all that I can about this, too— as long as you’re willing to be patient with me, please? Besides, I think I know someone who could help, once all these initial raw data are processed.”

“You do? That’s great! As you were saying though—of course I’ll be patient. I’ll help you in any way that I can. We’re going to figure this out, all of us, together.”

You’re filled with a newfound confidence that this little investigation was successful but are equally apprehensive of what new discoveries lie ahead. That, and the fact that you committed yourself earlier to telling her the entire truth, which won’t be easy for either party, you’re sure. It was simple with Papyrus, but even then, trying to tell him filled your entire being with tension, as if everything in your very nature was at war with the notion of spilling any bloodsucking beans.

“Morrigan?” Alphys looks you in the eye as she saddles up her belongings, ready to go.

“Yeah?”

“Let’s get the hell out of this place. Much as I, uh, love Undyne, she gets feisty when she’s kept waiting.” You laugh at that, a loud peal that tears suddenly from your throat, and then Alphys laughs too at her bold admission, which soon devolves into harder laughter from the both of you as you crouch once again to wiggle through the entrance. As the passage widens, you see the shape of Papyrus and Undyne still more or less standing guard, albeit the latter clearly wracked with impatience.

“There you two are! Finish your nerd extravaganza?”

“Yep.” That’s all you supply, with a smirk, because you know Undyne wants more than a one-word answer.

“Well?!”

“There is a well, yes, but this is actually more of a cave, I’d say.” You opt for a cheeky reply, and the collective groans a moment later signify that yes, everyone understands what you’d classify as a shitty ‘dad joke’. “Seriously, though, we’ve got no shortage of information on the chamber now.” The four of you begin to leave the dark crevice, as Alphys explains bits and pieces of the process while you collectively inch closer to the light of the great outdoors.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, okay, I swear that Papyrus will come about more in future chapters! Really! But I did enjoy writing a one-on-one interaction with Alphys and Morrigan.
> 
> To me, for Toriel to become a teacher, it would take a few years, wouldn't it? To even get a certification does, I think. Plus, Toriel would totally be the type to help out in a bakery and fill everything that ISN'T already stuffed with spiders full of motherly love. 
> 
> Who's that 'someone' Alphys mentioned to help, by the way?


	11. Vampires Can't Save the Date

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You go get pancakes with your very good friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (%) for minor blood mention
> 
> This chapter was... well. You'll see.
> 
> Hopefully in between school and work and volunteering things, I can keep bringing the updates at a reasonable pace!

Two days pass before you receive the first inkling of information from Alphys on the cave situation. After the four of you finished spelunking on Tuesday, she promised that she’d set aside some time to churn out a rough draft to share with you, along with the hope that some of your other questions could be explained by whatever prototype her computer system returned. In the middle of your Thursday afternoon shift, your phone pings with the first of a string of texts from your scientist buddy:

> (Spin) Dr. Alphys: Hello. Do you have a moment? Sorry if you’re busy at work or in class.
> 
> A simple introduction, given that the typing indication shows that she likely settles for the greeting after nervously scrolling through other options.
> 
> Me: No, it’s all good, I’m the boss today. What’s up?
> 
> (Spin) Dr. Alphys: [img_24090721zwDa.tiff] So this is obviously just a work in progress, but I messed around in GeoMaster and drew up a 2D cave layout for now.
> 
> After a few minutes, you brush aside an awkward feeling and reply:
> 
> Me: Alphys, I don’t think my phone can load that type of file in the native messaging app… is there a way you could email it to me or compress it a bit?
> 
> (Spin) Dr. Alphys: Oh, oops… sorry, I’ll email it to you instead? Or I could add you to a shared folder and upload it to the cloud?
> 
> Me: I think the shared folder idea is better, that way we have a working reference.
> 
> You provide your private email— no sense in giving a university email that’s public domain— and thank her for the effort thus far.
> 
> (Spin) Dr. Alphys: You’re welcome! Always glad to help a friend of a friend. □□□
> 
> Me: Alphys, you’re my friend too, you know that, right? Also, I can’t see those emojis, they’re just little boxes for me
> 
> (Spin) Dr. Alphys: Human technology, sheesh… um, do you want me to upgrade your phone for you?
> 
> Me: You know what? Sure, after seeing what you could do with Frisk’s phone. I trust you.
> 
> (Spin) Dr. Alphys: okay, just let me know whenever you want to. :^)

You smile at the little face she adds and proceed a bit more back and forth with broader questions of how her day is going and if anything is new before she apologizes and says she has to get going for something important.

You tuck your phone away and get back to work on printing up some sale tags for clearance plants and ones part of your mid-spring sale. It seems like only yesterday you were walking around with Papyrus with boundless small talk and questions about his professional history in an interview— and now? You poke your head out the office door and give a brief scan, but there’s no sign of him inside the actual store, just the face of your polite older cashier Jennette looking tiredly back at you. “Need something?”

“Oh, no, I was just looking for someone.”

“Is it Papyrus?”

“Yes, but I didn’t feel like walkie-ing him, it’s not important.”

Her neutral expression doesn’t change. “Well, if it does become important, last I knew he was outside fixing the herb display.” You thank her and tuck back into the office to return to the task at hand, your thoughts still on your taller compadre. From a work standpoint, he’s an incredibly ambitious worker and is certainly capable of carrying more than his weight in this nursery. That isn’t to say that you expected any less of him because he’s a skeleton or a monster, but that it’s nice when people you have a good feeling about turn out to be… well, the kind that instill good feelings. Normal, clerical feelings, that is. You know that you feel some way about him— there’s no sense denying that anymore— but you don’t care to touch those emotions in the middle of the workday. The machine spits out one final yellow “CLEARANCE! ALL PLANTS ON THIS RACK NOW $3.00!” sign before it dings and signifies it eagerness to print even more papers. For now, you have enough tags, so you exit the office and head to the green rolling racks in the back of the store, populated by various potted plants in varying states of decay— from daffodils with a few downtrodden leaves to little succulents with bits and pieces flaked and chunked off all over. The hope is that even though these plants are damaged in one way or another, people will buy them as either an attempt at reinvigoration or mashing up the plants as compost ingredients. Whatever the case, you slap the tag on the side of one rack and push it out to the center of the outdoor section where it’ll be most accessible. It’s at this point that you do see Papyrus, who is now busied as he helps two women pick out a sun-loving, fruit-bearing tree starter. There’s nothing you pick out about the customers, except for the fact that one of them has a shirt with a sitting, cartoonish dog plastered on the front with a stack of breakfast, stating that it is ‘Woof-fle Time!’ The silly shirt makes you think of waffles, of course, and then of breakfast in general, and one of your favorite morning food items: pancakes. Which you now want. Badly.

The customers load two fruit trees onto a flat cart, along with a few other items nearby, and head in the direction of the checkout. Papyrus wrings out his hands and rolls his shoulders a bit in a stretching gesture, even though he technically has no musculature to stretch. He looks over to you and his mandible moves a bit for a bigger smile than he usually has, followed by, “Oh, hello Morrigan! As you can see, I am hard at work as always!”

“Hey, I never had a doubt. What I _am_ curious about, though,” you straighten your face out as best you can, “is far more pressing than your unfailing work ethic.”

“Oh?” He asks, a gleam of curious apprehension blossoming on his face. Are you making him nervous because you’re something of a workplace boss to him? You hope not.

“What I’m about to ask you— your answer is incredibly important, but there is no right or wrong.” You know you shouldn’t yank his chain like this, but you also know that he can take the good banter into stride, once he sees through your serious façade.

“I… alright, what is it?”

“How do you feel about pancakes?”

“WHAT?” is the single phrase that exits his mouth, clear and utter surprise drawn on his angled features. “IS THAT ALL?” You get no chance to answer before he busts out in loud laughter, a sound which rings out in short repetitive peals. The first word that comes to mind is “musical”, even if it isn’t a conventional sound. And oh, how it is contagious; you soon join him in mirth, more so on your end at his display of incredulity.

As the laughter dies down, he makes a little ‘hmm’ sound as he brings one hand to his chin in a gesture of thought. “You know, I don’t think I can say for sure, considering I’ve never had a pancake!” An audible, almost comical gasp resounds from you. “What?! Chief, I’m about to change ya whole damn life!” So, you take a couple minutes in a ramble about your favorite breakfast item in great detail, your audience of one rapt with every sentence— another thing you appreciate about Papyrus, his exuberance for listening to even the most mundane things.

You’re excited enough about the prospect of manners that you end the spiel with, “You know what? When are you out of here?”

“One more hour to go for me!”

“Great. You’re coming with me, then after work.”

“WOW! HOW DID YOU KNOW I HAVE NO PLANS AFTER WORK TODAY?”

“I didn’t, until you told me just now. I’m going to try and power through the last hour and then? Sweet recompense.” As you walk away to return to your work, a thought pops up— where did that confidence come from? And more importantly, why? Shit, two friends going to a restaurant alone— it’s not a date unless you act like it is. Dammit, you wish it were a date, even slightly romantic, but again those are feelings to unpack later, so you grit your teeth and try to hype yourself up for your absolutely platonic date with one of your best friends. It doesn’t work, though, and the sting of embarrassment begins to set in as you cringe at your earlier behavior. Not that confidence was unwelcome, but… there’s an unnamed reason for why you don’t like commanding your friend around like that, even if it was more of a strong suggestion than anything that he could have said no to. You’re so distracted that you miss an older man as he shuffles past and bumps hard into your shoulder, causing the two of you to tumble a bit to opposite sides. You gather yourself and turn to automatically apologize when you’re met with a gaze of bewilderment. That isn’t entirely true; the man’s eyes rapidly shift this way and that in mounting confusion, and he hardly meets your stern look.

“Are you alright?” You don’t want to apologize because it wasn’t your fault, but you know that you have to play the polite part and at least act concerned for him, which you increasingly are.

The man’s mouth presses into a frown firmer than perhaps possible as his eyes widen. For whatever confusion he displayed a moment ago, it’s nothing to the fear now shown in his expression, all changed within a fraction of a second. “Wh— hello? Who’s there?!” He jerks his head this way and that in what you feel might be the fastest he’s moved in a long time and his gaze now passes straight over you.

You suddenly realize that it’s hard to see the man— you must be squinting, so you blink and peel your eyes open. Nothing changes and your surroundings begin to gradually darken bit by bit, still, until you’re left with nothing but a faint glimmer of light, the kind that still shows through when little kids pretend to be asleep but keep their eyes just slightly open. You instinctively look down at your hands to assess your entire body, and then it hits— you can’t see your hands. You can barely see _any_ of yourself. You stagger back in surprise and make for the office with great difficulty, and you bash your hip on a rack of plants with enough force to send it crashing down behind you. You’ll come back for that later, but the important thing now is to get out the public eye— not that they can see you, but this still freaks you out. You hear the now distant shouting of the old man and his pleas for help amongst all the confusion, which grow quiet as you nearly stumble into the office doorknob, take hold, and slam the door behind you. You have no way of locking it right now, so you just hope that the commotion outside is louder than the sound the door produces.

“Okay, okay, okay,” you repeat, over and over, now slumped on the floor the desk in a way you hope hides you from view. “Okay, what do I do?” You wait, but of course receive no answer to your rhetorical question. Well, shit. You suppose there’s not much to do but wait for the experience to subside, so you do just that. You feel a wet drop hit your hand and realize that tears are streaming down your face in the fashion of involuntary crying. “Dammit, of course I didn’t bring the book… oh, leave it at home for once, it’ll be fine!” Your hands slam on the ground in frustration as the view of the cabinet before you gets a little brighter. You think about how this happened in the first place— what caused it? Oh, yeah, thinking about Papyrus. Okay, so that’s one base covered. How can you stop it? You squeeze your eyes and attempt to focus on being visible again, then open them. It worked a little bit, maybe? You try it again, but to little avail; but you’re hopeful now that at least perhaps you’ll gain more control over this as time passes.

You freeze when you hear footsteps outside the door, then the gentle whoosh of an arm raise upwards to knock… then the arm drops back down, and the knob turns gently as the door creaks open a hair. A cupped hand, and then a whisper with your name on the forefront: “Morrigan? Pssst, are you in here? Are you okay?” Oh no, it’s Papyrus! You’re conflicted on how to feel. On the one hand, shit, it’s Papyrus; on the other hand… well, same feeling all around. He inches into the room a little bit and whispers again, and while you’d love to continue hiding, he’ll probably look back behind the desk anyway. Better to ‘fess up now. “Papyrus?” You whisper back, unsure as to why you don’t just use your normal voice. He pinpoints your location— easy to do, considering it’s a small office space— and peers over the desk to look at you. At this point, your vision is somewhat recovered, but you can still see the floor through your legs and hands.

“Are you okay?” You turn your gaze diagonal so that it’s locked into the dark sockets of your tall coworker. His expression serves to emphasize whatever concern he must be feeling for his friend, so you respond in turn.

“No, I guess not. I mean I’m still in one piece, but that doesn’t count for much in times like these, huh?” You try and play it cool, but man, you sound about as cool as the center of an overcooked pizza pocket. He puts his hands down on the desk, elbows bent, and bent over in a fashion that makes him ever-so-slightly shorter. None less serious, though.

“I guess I owe you an explanation. And you can trust I’ll be honest, because uh, you can see right through me if I’m not.” You hold up your semi-transparent hands and smile a bit and see his bones twitch in the smallest of smiles— he’s trying to be serious here for both your sakes’, you know, so maybe you ought to stop yanking his chain. Strong maybe.

“An explanation would be lovely, but it IS up to you! I do not mean to bias you, either, in saying that it would be silly not to provide one because I am already here and I’m up to my head in ear holes for listening!” So, you dive into an extensive explanation of what happened— you’d turned invisible again and had frightened a customer, and _that_ frightened you, and a chain reaction went off, finished by your hunkering down behind the desk in the office with the fear that the old man or someone would report the occurrence to somebody who gave enough of a damn to do something about it. You even paraphrase information gathered from your book after the first time this happened but omit what you believe might be the cause of your sudden loss of visibility.

“Hmm…” Papyrus begins and makes several thoughtful noises of a similar caliber before he reaches his thought destination. “Whatever the cause, I’m glad you’re okay! And I am equally glad,” he adds, “that I now have a new goal to help my very cool friend figure this out! It’s not every day that you turn invisible, after all, unless you’re a ghost. Say, you’re _not_ a ghost, are you?” He squints and his face scrunches a little in suspicion. You raise your now completely visible hands in defense of your position. “I know for a fact I’m not a ghost,” you reply, extra emphasis on the word ‘fact’.

“Alright! It’s not often that one becomes a ghost, but it never hurts to check!” While the curious part of you yearns to ask what he means by this, more important matters are at hand. You instead accept his outstretched arm as an offer to help you get on your feet and brush yourself off once upright. The ambitious gleam in his eye speaks to bigger plans than what he spoke as to how he wants to help you, exactly. “Perhaps I could look at that book you have? I do love books, and puzzles, so a puzzling book is right up my alley.” You have to appreciate how well this guy knows himself, among other things you enjoy about your eccentric friend. A beeping from your heavy-duty wristwatch breaks the moment and signifies that one hour has passed since your earlier promise of an after-work excursion. “Hey, look at that. Well, you know what that means.”

“You’re lucky that I do know what your little alarm means, otherwise that sentiment would be lost on yours truly, and I would have to question your conversational skills.” You lightly punch his shoulder as the two of you exit the office, ready to flee the scene. To your unsurprise and gratefulness, Papyrus has already taken care of the fallen plant stand and left no evidence of your prior mishap. “Say, whatever happened to the guy that I bumped into?”

“He made a few phone calls. I didn’t hear the conversation, of course, but it sounds like someone named Barbara got a full play-by-play.” You smile and part of you is glad that you only shook the old man instead of, say, literally scaring him to death, which would have likely been the case had you tipped him off to your true nature. Speaking of, it’s only now that you realize how hungry you are. Not human hungry, the other type of hunger, the kind that’s red and sticky; it can wait until you sit down to eat though, at least.

The two of you head to the parking lot, which makes you wonder… “So, whose car should we take?” You mean ‘car’ in the loosest sense of the word, given that your car is actually a shiny black motorcycle and while it does have room for two people, you aren’t sure that Papyrus should go riding without a helmet. “Uh, you don’t have a helmet, so I think my bike is out of the question.”

“THAT’S WHERE YOU’RE WRONG!” He shouts, finger in the air as an indication that his evidence to this fact lies somewhere nearby. “Au contraire, I don’t know anyone more prepared than myself, especially for times like these!” He pulls out his car keys and pops his convertible’s trunk space open, to reveal a smattering of random items. The back space isn’t messy, of course— everything is organized in a fashion you can’t quickly pinpoint— and most of the things are car-related. Next to a large pair of red rain boots sits the very thing he needs at the moment, a large black helmet with a large skull on its back and vivid blue flames pouring from its eyes. “Ah, you see? I am indeed prepared!” Impressive. To your absolute delight, too, because this means that he _can_ ride with you, even if he’s presumably experienced it before.

“Where’d you get that?”

“The Internet, of course! A good friend helped me pick it out after I got my car, because I was so certain that having a helmet while you drive was the safest way to go. After a short time, I found I no longer needed the helmet and that frankly it restricted my view, so I banished it to occupy my trunk space.” He perks up and adds, “but now, here I am, given a new use for my past decision!”

“Sold! Come on, let’s get going before Jennette tries to make us clock back in.” You’ve already got your helmet underarm, ready to be set in place once you’re sure that Papyrus is all set to go. You take your seat and pat the space behind you, thankful that your bike is big enough to seat two people. Helmet tucked beside his elbow he hesitates for just a moment before gently taking his place. You tighten your ponytail— a function of working in outdoors all day— and pull on your helmet, its black and red details shone under the gleam of the bright spring sun. You hear the brushing of bone against the softer inner padding of his gear and presume that it’s in place. “Ready?” Is all you ask before you insert the key and pull the choke, waiting for the grasp of his arms around your waist. It doesn’t happen. You turn back to look at him, and he’s still sitting there, but his arms are at his sides. Oh no.

“Papyrus… have you ever ridden a motorcycle?”

“WELL, ER, NO!”

You make a sound, the kind that precedes a laugh in a situation where it wouldn’t be appropriate and tell him where to place his hands as he adjusts himself in the seat. There’s the option of the grab rail nearby, but you suggest he tries both to get a feel for holding on before you take off. You’re all geared in your black gloves, a pair of boots that double as work shoes, and it’s clear to anyone that you’re an experienced rider. But to Papyrus, for his first time? “Don’t worry, this isn’t my first time with a passenger. I’ve had this thing for a couple years, clean record. And The Happenin’ isn’t super far from here.” His work gloves now firmly glued to your sides, you reassure him that you’ll go really slow, nice and easy-like, and flip the kill switch to ‘run’ as you begin the process of warming your bike up a bit. Soon enough, you hitch your left foot to move the kickstand back up, and the pair of you are off. As loud as he usually is, Papyrus is fairly quiet on the ride to your breakfast spot, so you ask, “Good back there?” over the roar of the little engine.

“DANDY! I’M JUST ADMIRING THE SCENERY!”

“Okay, just making sure!” The rumble of your bike and the whoosh of cars passing at the stoplight are the only noises you can hear at the moment, but he has a point. The weather is pleasant and ample insects are buzzing all about a nearby section of flowers in the road median, busy with their own little patterns of traffic amongst the plants. You feel you can’t ask for a more favorable day for your date with one of your best friends.

***

“Hello, table for how many?” A young server greets you at a podium staged before the dining area, his face polite if a bit reserved. You can understand that, though, and can’t exactly sing to this stranger’s attitude after only one sentence.

“Two, please.”

“Sure— table or booth?”

“Booth, if you have any. Please.” You tack the gracious word on at the last second in hopes of receiving a booth as the foundation for your meal, because you secretly liked to judge restaurants in part by the bounciness of their booth tables. The Happenin’ has yet to fail you.

The man gathers up two menus from an unseen area behind the podium and clacks them twice on the wooden counter, as if to straighten them, and then adds, “Right this way.”

Imagery fills your eyes as you shuffle past tables with customers in various stages of eating. You’re quite familiar with the down-home interior of the place, walls busied by jaunty memorabilia and numerous awards dispersed throughout. The place is a little beat up, a bit older looking, but whatever decay it presents only adds to the inviting atmosphere. Years ago, you resolved to begin supporting local businesses and stumbled upon the Happenin’ while putzing around nearby shops on a lazy afternoon. Soon after you’d met the owners and found that you lived in the same neighborhood— a Mr. Bob and Anne Pensley, an older couple whose hospitality followed them wherever they went. Naturally, this resulted in being invited over for dinner every now and then, an offer which you never felt the need to decline.

You’re sat in a sizeable booth as your server hands over the menus. It’s now that you meet Papyrus’s gaze, nervous for his first impressions of your choice. He meets yours in turn and looks all the happier to be here, and your smile gets a bit more genuine at that.

He looks down to his menu and slaps it shut with a loud clack. “I’ve decided.”

“What? We’ve only been sitting here for two minutes! What did you even decide on?”

“I want the cooks to surprise me!” Of course, that’s just the type of thing Papyrus would do, let fate decide what he would eat on this lovely afternoon. You wish you could do the same, but part of you just won’t let that happen. Instead, you’ve got your order memorized down to a tee, and you know that by now the staff does as well.

“Well hey, I’m sure whatever they bring is bound to be good, trust me.”

By now, your real server has come by to collect your drink orders and introduce themself— a short, middle-aged person named Jay. An iced tea for you, and just water for Papyrus, which makes sense after a hard day of work outdoors. Soon enough Jay returns, pen and paper in hand, brain tuned in to whatever food items you list off. You go first, and order what some other wait staff would just call ‘the usual’: two pancakes, some eggs whites, and a bowl of sliced fruit that held pieces of bananas and strawberries. It was less of a menu item and more of something that you buy and cobble together, but hey, it wasn’t exactly rocket surgery to make. Jay expresses no elevated emotion until Papyrus orders, and they look your friend up and down as if to size up what he might enjoy. “Okay, I’ll let them know.” You hand over your menus with a thanks and pick up a conversation with each other once Jay whisks away to deliver your orders.

You aren’t sure where to begin until you catch sight of a rubber bracelet hanging loosely from one of Papyrus’s wrists, a bright white text against the rest of the black strip. When right-side up, it reads, “STRENGTH IN NUMBERS” with the rest cut off on the other side of the band. Good place to start.

“Hey, what’s that about?” You point to his bracelet.

“OH, THIS? This signifies that I am a member of a very inclusive club— the gym where Undyne works!” That’s right, you recall that she instructs locally, and it only makes sense that Papyrus would go there, given two things: his boundless energy, and his close friendship with Undyne.

“Oh, neat. What do you like to do there?” You hope he doesn’t respond with ‘work out’.

“All sorts of things! I’m fond of running, jogging, sprinting… and more recently, weightlifting with Undyne. She says that when she’s done with me, I’ll be able to bench press at least SIX CHILDREN! That’s one more than I already can!” Holy shit, really? This guy is stronger than he looks in that case. You wonder where he gets it from, considering that the few times you’ve interacted with Sans, he seemed averse to doing anything more difficult than needed. Not that his brother is lazy, since you feel it unfair to label a monster with multiple jobs as anything but hard-working. “I’ve got a great idea, Morrigan! Next time you ought to come with me to exercise!”

“Why? Think that I need to?” This comes out harsh and loaded with a vitriol not often heard as even a tinge in your otherwise welcoming demeanor.

Papyrus looks taken aback but only adds, “Well, I think a friend like you would enjoy it, is all!”

“So you DO think I need to!” You jab your finger at your friend, toes on the edge of the slide, emotions ready to slip down in a spiral of bad feelings.

He throws his arms up in the air in response, caught off guard by your sudden malice. If he didn’t understand before, it’s clear that he does now. “What? That’s not what I meant at all! I only meant that I would enjoy your company, because I like spending time with you, Morrigan. If it’s such a crime, then please, present the shackles and cuff me.”

Now you’re even more upset, but at yourself this time. You completely misunderstood his angle and have made a fool of yourself. Of course, the server must pick up on this from across the room because with that uncanny time that all wait staff have— Jay swings by with your food. They set it on the table with a warning that the plates are hot, and you barely manage to give thanks before Papyrus looks up and does it for you. You begin to stammer out an apology, eyes still downcast, the whole of you embarrassed by your outburst. “Shit, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to— I shouldn’t have… I—” you’re cut off as Papyrus reaches forward to grab your animated hands and lower them to the table, in a gesture to bring the anxiety down.

“Morrigan, look at me.” You do as he says, slowly, and see that he isn’t angry— he’s worried. “I should be apologizing to you, so here it goes: I, your friend Papyrus, am sorry that I upset you. I don’t know how, or why, but I’d certainly be open to finding out.”

“No Papyrus, _I’m_ sorry. You were only trying to carry the conversation, and I absolutely mistook what you said. It’s…” you sigh with frustration and grab the bridge of your nose, the desire to explain at the ready but the ability lagging behind. “It’s not something that I can explain in full right now, okay? I don’t want to ruin lunch any more than I already have, but trust me, the blame doesn’t fall to you. It’s just that… sometimes I think too far into comments like that, you know?” It’ll have to do for now. You aren’t ready to explain your eating disorder, afraid that you’ll dispense with far more loud and rude words in that conversation than is due for public etiquette.

“It would be unjust of me to pretend that I understand, but I’ll try to. After all, what kind of friend would I be if I didn’t care?” He smiles. “A pretty poor one, don’t you think?”

A smile finds its way onto your face, too. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. Thank you, Papyrus.” You didn’t expect a touching moment in the middle of a busy restaurant, but there’s a time and place for everything, you suppose. He readies his silverware to dig into his surprise, which appears to be French toast topped with powdered sugar, black and red berries with juice that pools down onto the plate, and a few crispy slices of bacon. You look to your own meal, a bit sad in comparison, but it’s what you ordered so you have to at least attempt to eat it. The row of bottles off to your right catch your eye; normally, you wouldn’t add syrup of any sort to your pancakes, but there’s something so enticing about the nearest pitcher, its unmarked contents a burgundy pool of stagnant, likely delicious topping. You decide to branch out from being so bland and for once pour an unreasonable amount of syrup onto your flapjacks. And eggs. And fuck it, the syrup smells good enough, why not put some on your fruit?

(%)You make a cut into your pancakes and stab a bite, take it, and nearly choke, hit with a sudden realization. You clamber for your glass of tea to quell your coughing, and finally manage to say, “Papyrus! Do you know what this is?” He shakes his head, so you hand the pitcher over and tell him to open it. “It’s—”

“Blood. At least for you and me, but not for your friend there.” A voice sounds from the booth behind yours and you whip around to find its source. A gorgeous girl with braided brown hair, warm green eyes, and tan skin, probably about your age, nearly ordinary save for the fangs coming from her mouth and the dripping severed head on her plate. Shock steals your words, so she continues, “Don’t you know that these pitchers are enchanted? Nearly everything here is, anyway. Whatever’s inside will be different for everyone.” She’s got a moderate accent you can’t place and wouldn’t care to erroneously hazard at the moment, given that your thoughts are elsewhere. Oh, there’s so many questions.

“Are you… like me?” You don’t want to say ‘a vampire’ in here because that seems a fool’s decision. She affirms and points to her teeth and then to the head. “What gave it away?”

“Jeez, I was just making sure. One of us in here has to care about being careful.” If she’s going to be cheeky like that, so are you.

“Careful? About what?” Genuine confusion fills her features, and she cocks her head just a little.

“About, you know, the head on your table!” You try and whisper, but it comes out louder than intended. Behind you, you can hear Papyrus move to get a better angle so he can see the commotion. 

“Oh, that? Yeah, no one else can see that unless they’re like us. Well, at least in the same circle as being like us. Basically, anyone who isn’t a human. It’s called a glamour— don’t those scrubs down at the Council teach anything to newcomers nowadays?” You make a note to ask Hannah more about glamours later, since you don’t want to bring this girl’s opinion of you down any further. Whatever charm is in place would explain why Papyrus didn’t react when you walked past, but wait— doesn’t he have magic too? You’re so confused.

“Avery, by the way. In case you wanted to talk more, or in case you want to avoid me.” For as snippy as she is, the girl is certainly sociable. You get the feeling you’ll see her around before long.

“Morrigan. Albright, that is.” She shifts to tuck into her meal while you turn back around to keep digging into yours. It’s delicious as always, but you aren’t sure if that’s due to the fizzy, sharp taste of the blood it’s drenched in, or just because the cook does such a great job. (%)

“WHO WAS THAT?” asks Papyrus, ever curious.

“I don’t know, some girl I’ve never met. Avery,” you supply her name. The conversation picks up once again, but now you’ve got a different focus— your gaze flits around the room in hopes of spotting more strange meals or eclectic people out to lunch. A few patrons catch your attention— notably, a tall purple man with a shock of black hair and bushy mustache to match— but the general populace inside The Happenin’ are otherwise strikingly bland. You want to be certain of something, so you start, “Papyrus, do you notice anything… about these people?” You avoid saying that they’re weird or off-putting because they aren’t.

“Well, nothing surprising— but I do want to ask that tall man in the corner with the mustache about his hair routine. I feel that perhaps he could teach me a thing or two, and then I too could have a cool hairstyle. Even cooler than the one I have right now!” Leave it to Papyrus to always find the good in people, a fact that wracks you with utter relief.

“Yeah, you do look pretty cool, after all.” The phrase leaves your mouth before you can stop yourself, and flushed cheeks follow in both parties.

The food across the board is as finished as it can be, so Jay brings your check and you immediately snatch it up to prevent any contribution from Papyrus. After some convincing, he states that he’ll ‘get it next time’, and the two of you gather up your things to make for the exit. Backpack slung over shoulder, you head to the counter and pay, then find yourself and your companion outside once again, under warm, natural light. You make your way unceremoniously back to work so that Papyrus can get his car, thoughts geared toward the road the entire time. Once you’re finally there, he hops off and you shut the engine off with the knowledge that there’s things to be said. Papyrus goes first.

“WELL, THAT WAS ENJOYABLE! THANK YOU FOR THE BLUNCH!”

“Do… do you mean ‘brunch’?”

“WHAT? ‘BRUNCH’? Now you’re just messing with me! I can tell, too, because Sans does this stuff all the time!” It’s clear that his belief in ‘blunch’ is unwavering, so you back down from your corrective attempt.

“Of course. I’m glad you liked it, we’ll have to go back sometime.”

“PRECISELY! Or, better yet, we can cook our own lunch!” He’s beaming, and it’s all you can do not to give him a hug, so you settle on a firm pat on the back.

“Alright, I’ll see you later.” He starts to walk away, and you begin the motions of restarting your motorcycle, when a thought hits you. “Oh, and Papyrus?”

“Yes?”

“I… I like spending time with you, too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Glamour? The thing that brings death, right? No, not that kind of glamour!
> 
> I get the feeling that we'll see Avery around a lot more.   
> Also, now I want some pancakes.  
> ALSO also, I've never ridden a motorcycle, but would love to some day.


	12. Vampires != Kites

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Papyrus has some serious news to deliver, but there's an obstacle to skirt around first.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This whole chapter features recreational drug use (just weed.) If you don't like that, just like, skip to the last few paragraphs or so, which is where the most important bit is.

“Be quiet! You’re going to get us reported or something!”

“No…. help me! Hannah, ple-e-ease! I’m, I’m, melting!”

“That’s what I’M supposed to worry about, not you! Remember?”

This is your Saturday night back-and-forth with your good pal Hannah, who is presently in a far better state of mind than yourself. She’s got one hand on your back, one on a console controller, in a futile attempt to comfort you and enjoy the escape of video games. If you could think a bit clearer, and don’t know better, you’d almost think that she’s mad at you for what is quickly becoming an awful trip. How were you supposed to know that you’d have such a strong reaction to your very first edible?

Earlier, you were caught up in the middle of an essay (boring) when you received the text from Papyrus, who wanted to come over to deliver what he deemed some ‘serious news’ (worrying.) He doesn’t supply anything else besides the fact that he will arrive sometime within the next 30 minutes, which only serves to elevate your worry. You aren’t dating, so that’s off the table as to subject matter… but what else could he want? Essay saved, then forgotten, you shut your laptop and ran downstairs to warn Hannah of his impending arrival— only to find her building an elaborate, jumbled pillow fort in the living room. There are a few options as to what this signifies; that either Hannah is going to hotbox her little setup, or that she’s got some other method of using the drug of choice, which is fortunately legal in your area. The first time you ever saw her with it brought feelings of surprise, like you were seeing something you weren’t supposed to— after all, Hannah hardly looks the ‘type’, but she did make a fair point upon interrogation. “Hey, sometimes a bitch needs a break, you know?” was all you received as justification. You didn’t cast any negative judgement on her for it and remained receptive to her occasional late-night trips, especially because she was pretty respectful about it. Never before tonight had you partaken in any of it, though.

She never pressured you into it, before or right now. Just made the offer, supplemented with a promise that she’d be right there to guide you should you ever choose to join the party. Normally it wouldn’t piss you off but now you’re a bit peeved.

“Hannah, what’s this?” was the first thing to leave your mouth.

“What does it look like?” her faceless voice came muffled through the thick layers of a comforter.

“I just came to tell you that Papyrus is coming over because he has news. _Serious_ news,” You emphasized, “so can you do something about all… this?” You performed a useless gesture of gathering things up, lost on her because she couldn’t see you under her little fort.

“Why must you harsh my mellow like this?”

“Me?! You’re harshing MY mellow!” You’d begun to raise your voice in a sign of rising anger— to which Hannah finally stuck her head out from under the blankets.

“Okay, what is this about? Because I know it’s damn sure not about this fort, nor is it about the fact that I’m not even high yet.” She took the bait, but barely.

“I just… look, I’m worried about what he’s going to say, because what could be so important that he wouldn’t want to text it to me?”

She responded, thumb under one nail, scraping a little bit of something out from under another nail bed. “Some people are just like that, I think. My grandpa likes to text me that he has urgent news, which, surprise, it never is. Like, I love that man, but I think when you get old you lose sense of what other people might consider ‘urgent’ or ‘an emergency’. Hang on.” She pulled back into her fort, rustled around a little, and fully emerged with a shiny silver paper box in hand. There wasn’t anything to tell its contents except for a white label on the side.

“Sometimes, and I do really mean only sometimes, when I’m stressed about something, I have some edibles. These ones are gummy, so it’s harder to taste the weed, but not impossible. Do you want one?”

You’d contemplated for a mere few seconds before sticking your hand out. “Alright, you got me. Sure.” and then, having thought of it, you snap your palm closed and retract your hand. “Wait, won’t these make me high? I don’t want to be too high to understand Papyrus when he comes over.”

“This is only a little bit, which is generally what people start off with. If you really want to know, it’s only 10 mg. If you take it, I promise,” she said, holding up one hand, “that I won’t get high, because there’s nothing worse than getting high for the first time and being surrounded by someone else who is also even lightly toasted. Shit’s dangerous.”

You do trust Hannah, so you accept a gummy, and figured that the worst that might happen is maybe you’d be a little silly or maybe get sleepy, but most of all you just wanted to be calm enough to receive whatever news Papyrus has to share. She even made a show of putting her supplies in her bedroom, to demonstrate that only you would be getting high tonight.

“I don’t feel any different.”

“It takes a little bit to kick in, but when it does, you’ll know. I’ll know, for that matter.”

Which brings you back to your current conniption. At first, you felt okay, and then it _really_ kicked in, and judging by the “oh no’s” coming from Hannah and her look of worry, it became clear that this was not how things were supposed to feel. One moment, things seemed fine, and the next— here you are, sobbing on the floor and practically choking on your own well of mucus because you believe that you’re melting through the ground, angry at Hannah because she’s not even helping you, she’s laughing, isn’t she?

All your limbs feel heavy and your brain is fuzzy, like it’s packed with feathers and cotton candy. As if someone had taken your skull, opened it up, and taken out the pieces that make you feel like you’re present in the moment. You’re hardly in a state to do anything but loaf here and cry, so of course it’s right then that the doorbell rings. “I’ll get it…” you give one last sniff before you attempt to sit up, then stand up. Then you freeze as you remember who’s supposed to be on the other side of the entrance. “Shit! Wait! Don’t let him in!”

Hannah, perhaps too far away to hear your last sentence or simply inattentive to it, nearly trips over herself to go answer the door. Just out of sight is the metal baseball bat which you know hangs in the grip of one of those toolholder strips, installed for quick protective purposes. Or a rousing game of baseball, whichever comes first. Hannah doesn’t grab it because she already knows who it is— no attacker would identify themself so clearly with a shout of “HELLO! MORRIGAN? IT IS I, YOUR GOOD FRIEND PAPYRUS!” followed by a knock and a doorbell ring.

You hear the door open and Hannah give polite greeting, but hardly pay attention to what niceties are exchanged— you have bigger things to worry about. Papyrus is here, and it’s probably for something important, though you can’t recall why. So, you decide that maybe he’s come to chew you out for a thing you did, which you don’t want to witness; instead of confronting him like a normal adult, your drug-addled brain convinces you that the best option is hiding. Which is, indeed, a safe option for any anxiety-inducing events in life, but in order to successfully hide, you have to be, well, _hidden._ You are, in the loosest sense of the word.

You hear his footsteps, softened by the transition from hardwood floor to carpet. Surely not even his keen attention will be able to detect you if you don’t move, so you hardly even dare to breathe.

“Morrigan. What are you doing?” Says not Hannah, but Papyrus. She does, after a moment, step back into the living room and echo his question.

You don’t respond. Let his eyesockets think that it’s a trick of the light, that you’re not really there.

“MORRIGAN, I KNOW YOU CAN HEAR ME. Normally I can tolerate and even appreciate such antics, but I come bearing serious news this time.” When you continue to not move, Hannah stomps over and heaves you up by the underarms like a naughty child, and turns you to face Papyrus, who looks a bit… impatient? Hannah, who still holds you in her grasp, hands you over to the skeleton, who picks you up with ease. The expression on his face is enough to make you cry, so you do. A great, pained sound tears from your throat and you begin sobbing again, this time with a bit of wailing in the mix, and whatever support your body had been providing now gives out, and your whole form deadweights in his arms. Papyrus is caught off guard by the sudden shift in weight and you find yourself on the floor, a crying mess at the foot of a pair of red boots.

Hannah speaks up. “I’m sorry Papyrus, I thought that this would calm Morrigan down earlier, but uh… well, this isn’t supposed to happen.” Over your noise, she adds, “Whatever news you had is going to have to wait, unfortunately, I think. I’m sorry, dude.” Papyrus runs a hand over his face and a great sigh parts from his teeth.

“Alright. How do we get Morrigan to calm down?”

“Well, the only thing that might help is some chocolate. I’ll go get it, stay right here and watch.” She hurries over to the refrigerator and pulls out a chocolate bar. “This oughta help a little bit,” she states as she unwraps it and breaks a chunk off. The two of them sit on the floor in front of you and offer up the candy, but you’re still too out of sorts to even accept it. “Papyrus, be a dear and grab Morrigan’s arms, please.”

“Look at me. Hey, hey, look at me.” Hannah snaps her fingers to get your attention, which sort of works. “This is going to help you, okay?” And she holds the chocolate near your mouth, then huffs and kind of forces it in. Her tactic, however rude, works, because you bite the chocolate and eat the pieces, a dark taste you can’t focus on. It takes a few minutes, but if nothing else, at least the candy stops your crying. She stands up and returns to the kitchen, replaces the chocolate, and runs the tap before returning with a plastic cup and clear liquid. Water, for you.

A bit calmer, you do your best to drink it, but you’re still shaky and a bit of it splashes down your front. In his best hushed tone— which is admittedly still pretty loud— Papyrus asks, “How do you feel?”

“I’m… I’m sorry, please don’t be mad at me, please don’t be mad, please don’t, please don’t be mad…” you begin to ramble, not in tears, but it feels like your mouth is stuck on a loop.

He throws his hands up. “Morrigan, I will not lie to you, I am a bit irritated at you, but I think that’s a matter for later. Right now, I’m just glad you’re okay!” You nod, placated by his promise that he’s set his anger aside for the moment being. “Besides, it isn’t entirely your fault. Hannah said something like ‘this is a bad trip’ and that it can happen when you ‘take edibles for the first time’, which, I don’t really know what all that means, but look, you’ve already stopped crying! THAT’S A STEP IN THE RIGHT DIRECTION, ISN’T IT?” His exuberance seems to be on some kind of timer, where he can only keep quiet for so long before bursting with joy again. You begin to feel a lot more coherent, still a bit faded from the effects of the little gummy and would probably appreciate his kindness in further depth if you weren’t still mentally miles away.

“I really am sorry though, Papyrus.” You can feel the tinges of embarrassment, which you’re sure would be full-fledged in a normal state of mind.

“I forgive you, Morrigan.”

“Not to interrupt your heartfelt moment, but can I just say that this was a success?”

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN? IF CRYING IS A SUCCESS, THEN YES, MORRIGAN WINS ALL THE PRIZES.” He turns to Hannah, incredulity chiseled in his features.

“No, I just mean that my potion worked. That chocolate in the fridge has CBD, so it already would help calm you down, but I wanted to test something when I bought it. I wanted to see if I could make a potion in my Apothecaries 220 class that would… enhance its potency. Either it worked, or that’s the strongest chocolate in the world, and my bet’s on the first one. No one comes down from that bad a trip that quickly.”

“Potions? Alchemy? WAIT A MINUTE.” Papyrus rubs his chin in thought, then pipes up again. “Tell me, Hannah, does that mean you mix things together to create something new?”

“…Yes? That’s kind of the definition of potion-making.”

“OH! I KNOW SOMEONE JUST LIKE YOU! Yes, it’s all clear now!”

This piques her interest and Hannah raises her brows in excitement. “Really? Who?!”

“Grillby!” He exclaims in a way that suggests that the two of you should know who this is.

“Grillby… who?”

He gasps dramatically. “I’ll have to introduce you sometime! He has his own restaurant and bar here in town. Although I don’t really care for the greasy burgers and fries, I must give credit where it is due. He’s a very skilled mixer of liquids.”

It takes a moment, then Hannah bursts into laughter. “Wait, so he’s a bartender?”

“THAT’S CORRECT! YOU’RE ALSO A BARTENDER, RIGHT?”

“I— man, you’re funny.” She turns to you and points to Papyrus. “I can see why you keep this one around. No, I’m not a bartender, dummy.”

“DUMMY? But I’ve never been filled with anything but bones! And I’m not mad!”

You speak up, ready to add to the conversation. Watching your friends flounder is a bit amusing, but Hannah will let this charade go on all night if she wants to. “She’s a witch, my man.” You can practically hear the dial-up noises that accompany his momentary confusion, and then, just like that, he smiles and says, “Oh, okay!” No judgement, no questioning, no claims that either you or your friend are crazy. You’re sure it’s a relief for her to be believed by someone outside of her circle.

“I think you’re missing something though! Your cape and pointy hat!”

“I—what? I only have to wear those when I’m at school.”

It’s your turn to be surprised. “Wait, really?”

“Yes, and none of the professors know what a computer is, and we have to write everything with feather quills! And every day at lunch they make us eat toad stew and ‘flied’ eyeballs.” Okay, you get the gist. She’s just messing with you now.

“Hannah, don’t tease him like that, he’ll believe you!”

She admits defeat. “Alright, yes, I’m just kidding. Except for the part about hats and all. It’s part of our uniform. I guess it works because only people with magic can get onto the campus.”

“WOWIE! THAT ALL SOUNDS VERY NEATO!” Coming from anyone else, this would sound incredibly awkward.

“Yeah, that’s real fuckin’ neato,” you add, in reference to something funny seen online.

There’s a pause, and then Hannah looks back to the TV screen. “Should probably do something with this, huh?” She gets up to shut the videos games down and checks her phone. “Man, time really flies when you’re putting your best friend back together after a weed-induced mental collapse, huh?” She lists off the time, which is late by everyone’s standards, especially Papyrus’s.

“If that’s the case, I had better get going!”

“Going?”

“Yes, I can simply come back tomorrow to deliver my news, right?”

“I guess, but… well…” you start, eyes locked on Hannah’s in a plea that says, ‘help me out here, I don’t want him to leave but I can’t say that out loud’. She catches onto your visual cue and joins in. “Are you sure you want to drive out in the rain?”

Papyrus looks downright confused. “Rain? But it’s a clear night outside!” He whips to look out the window, and in that tiny span of time, Hannah moves her hands in an intricate fashion. Just beyond the window, a near torrential downpour begins to coat the lawn, glass, and any other outdoor furnishings in the nearby area. “Hmm… well, this was certainly unpredicted! But a little rain never stopped a Royal— er, someone as hardy as me!”

“Well, what about the thunder and lightning?”

“I’ve been electrocuted before, reason unimportant, and these bones could use a good jolt!” It seems her attempts at making him stay are fruitless thus far.

“That’s all well and good, but what about…” she’s thinking, but not quickly enough for you.

“What about the door-to-door soft pretzel salesman?!” You shout, expulsing forth the first thing that comes to mind. Instant regret wracks your mind because who would be silly enough to buy that?

“SOFT PRETZEL SALESMAN? WHY WOULD I BE SCARED OF— OH NO.” He pats his jacket pockets frantically, hands worming in and out of the fabric caves in search of something. “I LEFT ALL MY MONEY AT HOME! If he comes to the door, I won’t be able to buy anything!”

Hannah, fighting to keep a straight face, waves her hands again and shouts, “Look! He’s coming up the walkway!” Sure enough, a figure was moving at a leisurely pace up the sidewalk, not perturbed in the slightest by the nearby weather system. This should’ve tipped Papyrus off, but he’s too caught up in fear to think harder on it. He vaults over the front of the couch and any number of blankets and pillows crash down on him with a soft thud. He waits in silence, hidden only to eyes outside the house— to you, he looks like the comfiest pile of jumbled bones ever, a hand sticking out one way, a leg coming from under another part of the blanket.

Hannah peers over the couch. “Okay, it’s safe to come out now. I think he’s gone, but who knows, he might come back.”

“YOU’RE RIGHT! Clearly the only and best option is to have a sleepover here!” He suggests, finally caving into your hopes. You smile at Hannah, who shoots a wink your way. Papyrus in the meantime gets up, brushes himself off, and begins rebuilding the fort, which ends up being a lot bigger and better than the original structure. “There! Now we may enjoy this fort properly! Although, it seems a lot bigger on the inside, don’t you think?” Hannah’s doing, once again. Not something that you can complain about, nor something that you want to, so you crawl across the living room and shuffle under the blankets. It’s far roomier inside than is physically possible, which turns out great for everyone, especially Papyrus. A movie is watched, a few episodes of a show, and then the three of you are tired enough from tonight’s antics to hit the hay. As you help disassemble the fort and return the articles back to their rightful places, you can’t help but wonder what news you were supposed to hear. You decide to ask, ready to sleep save for the burning question.

“So, what was it that you wanted to tell me earlier?”

“I feel that I should wait until the morning to tell you, but… well… I received a strange phone call today. At first, I thought it was a prank somehow, but I soon came to find that this was no joke.” He frowns.

“Papyrus, what is it?”

“I quickly found out that my caller was none other than Mr. Holter.”

“Mr. Holter? Our boss’s short, timid husband? Why would he be calling you?” He wrings his hands together in a show of nervousness.

“That’s what I had wondered, too. He said he tried to get ahold of you but couldn’t, so he called me about Mrs. Holter. She’s missing.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [cue dramatic music]  
> Missing? That's news that would sober anyone up right quick. 
> 
> Also. If you ever think about doing drugs, make sure to use the buddy system. I'm not saying 'hey! Do drugs!' but if your friend tries to get you high for your first time and they're also high, that's a bad idea and pretty unsafe. Which is why Hannah, good friend that she is, looks out for you. Sorta. This chapter wasn't originally going to be so anecdotal (courtesy of yours truly), but here we are. CBD would of course not work that fast or well in real life, and even in this chapter Morrigan is still a bit phased by the end, which is why I introduced Hannah's tampering in the matter. 
> 
> Also also. I feel that Papyrus wasn't actually AFRAID of the absolutely very real and not at all a fake image created by Hannah salesman, but it really is awkward to talk to like, the Girl Scouts, and have no cookie money on hand, right??
> 
> Things can only pick up from here! And thank you to all you people who are reading this, leaving kudos, and all that jazz. I appreciate comments, so from here on out they won't have to come through my inbox first! Talk it up :)
> 
> Oh and one last thing, != means 'not equal to', which in the title means 'Vampires are not Kites'. Y'know, like getting 'high as a kite'. See, it's funny because- well. You get the picture.


	13. Funny You Should Ask

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You send Papyrus off to bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a shorter chapter, but I promise more is to come. It gets a little weird after the ***, so just be aware.

“Missing.”

“YES, THAT’S WHAT I SAID. Missing.”

You stand in place, shocked, dumbfounded features backlit by the glow of the big living room lamp that’s still on, because even though it was late only Hannah was really tucked into bed by now. You would be, too, and you presume Papyrus is an early sleeper, but this is far more pressing than that.

“She? I— I’m sorry? What the fuck do you mean she’s missing?” You’re upset and confused, which you hope Papyrus understands isn’t directed at him, words backed by a series of false-start hand gestures at nothing in particular. He stands up from his place on the couch and takes a step toward you.

“Trust me, Morrigan, I am equally— if not even more— worried for our boss, colorful language included! This is why I suggested waiting until the morning to deliver such dire news. But yes, Mrs. Holter is missing, according to her very frazzled husband, who is in the process of filing a report with the local police.” He shakes his head, brings his hands to rest on his skull in a show of tired bewilderment. You speak up.

“Okay, not to, y’know, make assumptions or anything, but how the hell could anyone kidnap her? She’s not exactly the type of person you’d see and think, ‘gee, she could be taken away at any moment!’” It’s true— when you first met Mrs. Holter in person, your immediate impression was that this white haired, blue-eyed woman (who sounded sweet over the phone) could inflict permanent, painful bodily damage if she so desired. She’s tall (6 feet, you had asked one time after becoming a bit more casual with her) and built like a horse, with all the strength and none of the fragility. That isn’t to say that she’s ugly, or mean to you, just that most people think twice before playing stupid games in her presence.

Her husband is the complete opposite in many aspects of the word. Mr. Holter is a short, timid man whose features hide behind bushy brown mustache and wire-rimmed glasses, and he’s probably about half the height of his wife. You’ve only met him once, at a company barbecue, but even one interaction was enough to give you the distinct feeling that he would make a perfect librarian. That is, if he wasn’t already a data analyst for a local geothermal company, a tidbit you picked up on at some point during the event. If anything, you’re far more surprised that the shoe wasn’t on the other foot and that he hadn’t been kidnapped.

“Shocking though it may be, there must be something we can do to help!” He’s got a determined look about his bones, smile bright as ever, sockets somehow furrowed in conviction.

“I mean, we could probably put up missing posters around the town, or at least the neighborhood. Someone’s gotta have seen her go missing, there’s no way she just disappeared in the night. Right?” You ask, but know that apparently there is a way, seeing as how your boss is nowhere to be found, according to her husband, and to be fair, she also wasn’t at work yesterday— but you’d just assumed she was off that day.

“NONSENSE! WE CAN LOOK FOR HER OURSELVES! WE’LL BE MASTER DETECTIVES AND FIND HER IN NO TIME!” He looks so excited for the first time all night; you almost feel bad for having to halt his idea in its tracks. He begins to move to strap on his boots, but you stick your hand out and grab his arm. The bone would probably be colder were it not for the fact that you, by nature, are always freezing. Being partially dead will do that.

“Papyrus, I’m just as worried, but I doubt we’ll uncover much at— god, what time is it? One in the morning? Point is, I think that if you really want to do this, we should at least wait until tomorrow morning to brainstorm. Or later today, I guess. I can’t think because I’m so, so…”, you trail off as a yawn punctuates your sentences, “sleepy.”

He looks like he wants to protest, but instead he just sighs and says, “I suppose you have a point. Alright, we’ll wait until the morning, but only because you prefer to take one of those extended naps Sans is so fond of.”

“Do… do you mean sleep?”

“YES YES, sloop, sleep, it’s all the same to me,” he says, with a dismissive little wave of his gloved hand. You want to know why his hands are always gloved, but figure now isn’t the time to ask. “It may surprise you, but even such a powerhouse of energy as myself needs a rest sometimes!” He then moves back to the couch, sits, and lays down, parts of him dangling off the edge, then folds his hands over his chest and promptly shuts his eyes with a, “Good night.”

You just stand there for a second and behold the sight. “Uh, Papyrus?”

“Nyes?” One socket flies open.

“Do you want a blanket?”

He lifts his skull up at this and smiles. “Only if you have the long, fuzzy kind!”

“I think that’s almost all blankets.”

“That’s ridiculous! All the blankets in my laundry closet at home are short and kind of shaggy, and they don’t even soak up all the water!”

“Pretty sure those are towels.”

“OH. That would explain the little ones near the kitchen sink, then.”

You shake your head at his goofiness and shuffle down the hall to your laundry closet, the innards of which present a small array of blankets in various sizes and comforts. You pick out a large gray, fleecy comforter and bundle it in your arms, and add two pillows to the mix.

“Here. And you know what, while we’re at it, up please.” Papyrus obliges and gets back up as you begin to move the coffee table off to one side, to which he strides over and pushes it with such ease you’d think the floor is covered in butter. “Thank you. Now this,” you start, as you finagle with something underneath the middle couch cushions until a hidden part of it begins to fold out, “might be a little more comfortable for you.” A bit more messing around and the cushion area has transformed into a fold-out bed space, far more appropriate for a monster his size.

“Sorry if it’s not, uh, comfy enough.” You didn’t consider beforehand that maybe a monster made of bones would have some special method of sleeping.

He pushes one finger into the mattress, and then sits down and situates himself horizontally. “It’s… well… WOWIE! I AM MOST IMPRESSED, MORRIGAN, AT YOUR FUTURISTIC COUCH-BED! Perhaps it is better that my brother is not here, because if he saw this contraption, he might not ever want to get up.” So much for worrying about his comfort. Also, he’s really strong anyway, so you figure that it wouldn’t make much sense for his bones to be fragile enough for mattress-induced damaged.

You laugh a bit. “Yeah, but it’s actually the opposite. Kind of outdated, but I’m glad you like it.” He arranges the pillows and blankets just so, then leans back, as the creaky old bedframe protests from lack of frequent use. You hope that it doesn’t keep him up for the few hours that he’ll likely sleep, if he gets any at all.

“All good? Need anything else?”

“NO SIREE!”

“Okay, well come wake me up if you do. Night, man.” He responds in same and you turn to climb the stairs, missing the sight of Papyrus pulling out a little hardcover book from somewhere on his person.

***

“I would’ve never guessed this place was here, thanks for taking me.”

“Of course, what better place for a first date than somewhere like this?”

You look down at your menu. _You can’t read any of the words, but that’s okay, you can choose something anyway._ A server appears suddenly at your side, and leans in really close, practically climbing on the table to take your menus. He’s smiling, a grin so impossibly wide that it looks downright painful, and somehow communicates that he’ll go put the orders in before he walks away.

The server doesn’t even return before food suddenly appears on your table. Across from you, Papyrus smiles like he’d been expecting your meals to simply materialize in front of you all along. He wears a plain, black T-shirt that reads FORMAT in big white letters on the front, and there’s a bright green ribbon stuck to his skull on one side that reads FANCIEST ONE #0! that wait staff rewarded him upon entering the restaurant. “I hope you like it.” He says, stroking a phony mustache taped right below his nasal cavity.

“I already do.” You physically can’t look down, but at the same time are able to see that in front of you sits a bowl full of spaghetti. There’s nothing remarkable about it. Yes, just a regular, blood-covered bowl of spaghetti, marshmallows, and spiders. The spiders, some of which are roasting the marshmallows on sticks over a campfire on a nearby plate, crawl into the shape of a heart, then an arrow that points up at Papyrus. _You nod because you know it’s true._

“I have this… feeling, Papyrus.”

“Me too. I want to spend some time with you, Morrigan. And I’ll support you in whatever you choose.” He speaks softly now, and clasps your cold hand in his much warmer, gloved one. The two of you dip into your food, but now instead of spaghetti, your bowl is filled with jet black live fish in a little pool of blood. You ask, “May I?” One fish turns and moves its little head up and down in approval. They all swim around aimlessly, before you dunk your hand in the bowl and snatch all of them at once, then shove them in your mouth. You can feel the fish wriggling around against your teeth and gnash down to release the juicy flavor of their little muscles. _Instead, sand begins pouring from their insides, filling up your mouth with smooth yellow grains that suck up all the saliva. You open your mouth, and the yellow sand begins pouring out. You look to Papyrus. He continues talking, the sound of his words dampened by the whish of a sandy stream pouring from his eye sockets and the spaces between his teeth._

_You look around, and everyone’s got sand pouring out of their mouths, all still smiling and chatting as if nothing is amiss. You feel a sense of urgency, but about what, you’re unsure. All the lights in the restaurant go out and plunge the scene into total darkness. Your chair disappears from under you, and you’re falling through the floor, through a nameless space, until—_

_You’re in a desert. Great big mesas of red and orange rock surround you on two sides, the rest of your surroundings barren save for a little pond ahead of you. You stand at the pond’s edge, then dip one finger in the water. It’s hot and the sensation invigorates you. You lean closer over the surface of the water, and see that it’s bottomless, that it’s suddenly a vast expanse of deep blue in front of you, an endless, unnaturally still horizon. You lean back into a kneeling position and submerge both hands in the water, slowly, as your fingertips brush an object. It takes all of your strength, but after a moment you retrieve an unassuming brown vase, its clay surface perfectly smooth under your fingertips. You make another pass over the water, this time grabbing a shiny sundial with two hands and no markings; you continue to reach under the water, each time pulling out a different object from the warm, watery medium. A brassy mirror, a tiny, intricate wax statue, an eroded and charred hunk of rock, a plain fabric sack with something inside, and a blank rolled-up piece of parchment. You take great care to set the objects down beside you on scorching sand and reach your hands back in the water one more time. You can’t feel any other objects and are about to remove your hand when the desperate grip of something else begins to yank your arm._

_You tug and tug, but the grip seems to grow stronger and more frantic to bring you into the water. Finally, you manage to wrench your grip free and stumble backwards with sudden momentum. You then crawl back to the water’s edge, but there’s no hand or anything else in the water._

_Then her face appears, Mrs. Holter’s visage, just below the surface, frowning heavily at you. She says something but you can’t make it out, and you can’t move in any closer. Your boss begins to reach an arm up towards you, shaking fingers approaching at an agonizingly slow pace. Just when you think that her hand will breach the surface, her fingers bump against the water, again and again, the top of the calm blue now an impenetrable sheet._

_“I can fix this!” You yell at her. It’s no use. She shakes her head and draws back into the depths, her disappearing form now only an imprint on your memory._

_A hand at your shoulder breaks the silence, and you whip around to see Papyrus and a little cloaked figure— the mouse from before._

_“I just thought you should know.” is all the mouse says, solemn as ever. “The time to act swiftly approaches.” Papyrus is a step closer now, ahead of the little mouse, in a brand-new outfit— a red cloak of his own, fitted over his shoulders with a jeweled fastener, atop bold-looking metal armor, cuirass emblazoned with the carving of an almost familiar rune. He holds his arms out in a hug and you gladly embrace as the mouse watches on, its expression just a mite calmer than before._

_“What’s with the getup?” You ask Papyrus._

_“For our journey, of course! The little mouse told me everything!”_

_“Journey?” You look to the mouse, but it shakes its furry head._

_“I cannot explain to you here, this place is much too unstable—” it waves its hands frantically, then lets out a little squeak at the splash of the water behind you. You turn just in time to witness the emergence of a massive black shape, soundless as it drifts toward you and Papyrus. You look back to Papyrus and the prophet, but it’s just you now. A soundless scream rips from your throat as the surrounding water begins to pour into your mouth, more and more, until—_

“Morrigan! Hello! Wake up!” There’s shouting, and you peel open one sleep-crusted eyelid, then more shouting and more water, and you fly awake, sitting up so fast that you smack into something and fall back down.

Not something, _someone_. That someone being Hannah.

And towering over her, Papyrus, concern drawn in his features, highlighted under the glow of the bathroom light. Wait, what?

You glance beyond the searing pain in your nose to see that the three of you are indeed in your bathroom. On top of that, you’re in the bathtub. You quickly look down and almost audibly sigh in relief when you see that the tub is empty, and you’re still clothed and dry. Well, nearly dry. Your shirt is soaked from some unknown source of water, which is easily traced back to the empty cup in Hannah’s hand.

She bends down so she’s a little closer to you, and in a jarringly calm tone, begins, “Now, Morrigan, I want you to tell me something.”

“Yes?”

“What the HELL are you doing, sleeping in the bathtub and almost giving me a heart attack like that?!”

“Look, I can explain.” You sit up a little bit, arch your back, and press your bent arms into the sides in a manner of stretching.

“Really? You have the floor then, go on!”

So, you do just that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sure if I'm going to do the whole warnings for each section thing unless it's something really major, because I think it's hard to bypass mentions of blood or gore and whatnot in a vampire-centric work. 
> 
> Now, I've never woken up in a bathtub personally, but have I lost a tooth from sleep-boxing with myself in a vivid dream fit? Absolutely. I also used to hit my head a lot upon waking up, so there's that. 
> 
> Also at some point I'll probably update my tumblr enough/set it up enough to link it in one of these chapters, so keep your eyeholes peeled for that.


End file.
